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LEONARD AND GERTRUDE, 



POPULAR STORY, 
Written originally in German; 

TRANSLATED INTO FRENCH, 

AND NOW ATTEMPTED IN ENGLISH*, 

WITH THE HOPE OF ITS BEING USEFUL 

TO 

ALL CLASSES OF SOCIETY. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED FOR AND SOLD BY JOSEPH GR.OFF, 
NO. 75, SOUTH SECOND-STREET, 



ROBERT CARR, PRINTER. 

1801. 



i 



TO 

WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq, 
Dear Sir,' 

IF I knew any Person whom I 
more respected, to him I would have in- 
scribed this little Volume. I was much 
struck by its original merit, and have 
spared no pains to render it acceptable 
to the English Reader, Of that merit, 
it may have lost a considerable portion 
in my hands; and I confess it is not 
without some latent hopes of supplying 
my own deficiencies, that I have ven- 
tured to affix a name to my Book, which 
is, I think, never coupled but with what 
is good and virtuous. 

Tour faithful Friend and Servant, 

THE TRANSLATOR. 



LEONARD AND GERTRUDE. 



CHAP. I. 



A Man whose natural disposition is good, but who 
nevertheless involves his Wife and Children iu 
distress. 



1 HERE lived in the village of Finefliade, 
an honeft mafon, by name Leonard, his wife's 
name Gertrude. They had five children, whom he 
could very well have fupported by his labour \ but, 
unfortunately, he allowed himfeif to be decoyed to 
the alehoufe, and when once there, he behaved like 
a madman. In every village there are afet of cun- 
ning rafcals, who have wit enough to take advan- 
tage of trfe good-humoured and unwary, and to drink 
at their expence : Leonard was a man of this cha- 
racter ; and when once they had inveigled him to 
drink, they eafily cheated him of his wages at play. 
The poor fellow was miferable the next day when 
he reflected that he had fquandered in gambling the 
money which mould have provided bread for his 
wife and family ; he trembled at the idea, and unable 
to fupport their prefence, he would wander from 
his houfe to hide his tears. 
B 



2 



Gertrude was one of the honcfteft and moft in- 
duftrious women in the parifh, and yet die, and her 
fine roiy children, ran the rifque of being flarved ; 
Leonard might be arrefted for debt, they might be 
deprived of their cottage, fcparated from one ano- 
ther, driven from place to place, and lofe the very 
meansof fubfiftence and every comfort; for no other 
reafon but becaufe the father got drunk. The tender 
mother and wife was grieved to the heart, at a mis- 
fortune which appeared to her fo near and fo inevi- 
table. If flie went to cut grafs for their cow, to 
fetch hay, or to fcour her dairy which was always 
as clean as hands could make it; every obj eel; brought 
to her remembrance the cruel reflection, that Garth, 
cottage, dairy, every thing upon which they depend- 
ed for fupport, might be foon loft ; and when her 
little ones flocked round her, it redoubled her afflic- 
tion, and (he could not refrain from tears. She had 
hitherto filed them in fecret, determined to hide 
them from her little ones : but the laft Wednefday 
before E after, her hufband having flayed out later 
at night than ufual, (lie could no longer reftrain her- 
felf, and they faw the tears running down her cheeks. 
Ah ! mother ! they exclaimed all together, you are 
crying, and at the fame moment they all clung round 
her* Diftrefs and anguifh were painted in every 
face. The fighs, the lamentations, and the floods 
of tears that bathed the faces of the children*, as they 
crowded round their mother, combed even into 
the mind of the infant at the breaft, the firft fenti- 
ment of grief it had ever experienced. So lively an 
expreflion of fear and affliction which it had never 
before witneffed, caufed it to fix its little eyes im- 
moveably upon its mother for the firft time without 
fmiling, and that quite overpowered her. She fob- 
bed aloud, her children, even the babe fhe held at 
her breaft, were drowned in tears; it w T as one general 



burft of lamentation, when Leonard half opened the 
door. y/ 

Gertrude had hid her face in the covering of the 
b:d, which prevented her noticing the opening of 
the door. The children did not fee their father was 
coming in, their attention being confined to their 
weeping mother. One was fmothering her hand 
with kiffes, another had its arms clafped round her, 
a third laying hold of her petticoat, and in this fitu- 
ation Leonard furprifed them. The Almighty be- 
held the affliction of the wretched, and put an end to 
their diftrefs ; a glance of compaflion lighted upon 
Gertrude, drowned in her tears, and He himfelf wil- 
led that Leonard mould witnefs a fcene which rent 
his heart, and made him tremble from head t® foot. 
Pale as death, he could fcarce articulate — Heaven 
and Earth! what is the matter? This exclamation 
brought the mother and children to their recollec- 
tion ; they perceived their father (landing before 
them, and immediately dried their tears. They 
exclaimed, Here's father 1 and even the infant ac- 
knowledged his return. Thus when a boundlefs 
torrent, or a devouring flame ceafes its ravages, 
confternation anddifmay give,place to calm and fober 
diitrefs. 

Gertrude tenderly loved her hufband, and his pre- 
fence was at any time fufficient to foften her mod 
violent forrows. On the other hand Leonard began 
to recover from his firit fui prife. Tell me, my Ger- 
trude, what occafioned the fhocking feene I have 
juft witnefTed. — Oh 1 my friend, faid (he, dark care 
has taken poffeflion of my heart, and when you are 
away it has double hold on me. — I know too well 
anfweredhe, the true caufe of your tears! unhappy 
wretch that I am. Gertrude had lent away the chil- 
dren, and then Leonard hid his face in her bofom, 
and was unable to utter a word. She was as little 



e to ipeak, but recline d upon her hulband, who 
wept and fobbed, with every mark of the moll vio- 
lent agitation. At laft, exerting all her courage, fhe 
began to conjure him not to expofe their children 
any more to lb terrible a deftiny. Gertrude was a 
religious woman, and Die placed her truft in God. 
Before me began to fpeak, (he had filently offered up 
more than one prayer, for her hufband and her chil- 
dren, She found her heart fenfibly relieved, and 
Md, Leonard, put your truft in God, and in his ten- 
der mercies, and determine to conduct yourfelf 

Ah ! Gertrude, Gertrude, interrupted her hufband, 
who could only fjgh and weep.- — Yes, my friend, 
continued me, take courage, truil in the kind father 
of ?,ll mercies, and all will end well yet. It makes 
my heart bleed to give you uneafmefs, and I would 
willingly have kept you ignorant of my forrows. 
You know I could live with you upon bread and 
water, and often have I laboured till midnight, 
while the reft of the world flept, to earn bread for 
you and our children. But, G my Leonard, if I 
could even have fmothered my grief, till our affairs 
had become defperate ; till we ihould have been torn 
from one another, and have been obliged to aban- 
don our children, Ihould I have acled like a good 
wife and an affectionate mother? Till now, thefe 
dear innocents are full of gratitude and love towards 
us ; but, when we behave to them no longer like fa- 
ther and mother, alas ! their affection, that honefl 
goodnefs of heart upon which I found all my hopes, 
will be irrecoverably loft. And, only think, my dear 
hufband, think one moment how wretched it would 
make you, to fee your poor Nicholas without any 
place to melter hirofelf in, obliged to have recourfe 
to fervice; — that poor boy who already talks with 
Mich ardour of liberty, and is fo proud of thofe ewes 
he calls his own. What ! Vf that dear child, and our 



other darlings fhould be reduced through our 
fault to want the neceffaries of life, and forgetting 
what we have already done for them, Ihould only 
retain a painful recollection of their parents ; could 
you fupport it ? Tell me, could you bear to fee your 
Nicholas, your James, your Louifa, your Jenny de- 
folate ? Juft Heaven i driven from their native home, 
and obliged to leek their bread amongft ilrangers 1 
For my part I could not furvive it. 

An oppreffion at her heart prevented her from 
faying more, me could only fhed tears. Leonard 
was not lefs afflicted. What mail I do, wretch that 
I am ! how mall I extricate myfelf ? my fituation is 
even more deplorable than you fufpedl. Gertrude i 

my dear Gertrude ! Fie could utter no more, 

but wrung his hands, and fobbed, and groaned with 
defpair. 

"Beware, faid Gertrude, how you doubt the pro- 
vidence of the Almighty. Whatever you have upon 
your mind, let me know it, conceal nothing, and 
perhaps our joint efforts may find fome remedy for 
our misfortunes. 



CHAP. II. 



An example of a Woman with courage enough to exe- 
cute a good resolution, and in so doing, finds her 
.Landlord a benefactor and reed father. 



I 



.T grieves me to the heart, my dear Gertrude, 

to reveal the full extent of my wretchednefs, which 

mud increafe your affliction, but there is a necefli- 

ty fcr it, I ftill owe to Collins the fleward 31. 15s. 

B2 



6 



md foe is more a brute than -a man towards hrs^nc- 
ditors, What a wretch I am that I ever became en- 
tangled with him ! if I flay away from his alehoufe, 
he threatens to arrefl me; and when I am there, he 
never leaves me a farthing in my pocket. You mult 
attribute our misfortune folely to his voracity. 

But, my friend, faid Gertrude, why don't you go 
directly to our landlord ? You know he has always 
fhewn himfelf a father to his tenants, and that the 
widow, the orphan, and the oppreiled, are fure of 
finding in him a proteclor. .Depend upon it, you 
will obtain from him the advice and afiiftance you 
want. 1 neither can nor dare go, anfwered he. 
What could I do againfl the lleward ? he has affu- 
rance enough to invent and maintain the mofi auda- 
cious falfities, and is fo very plaufible, and fo very 
cunning, when he wants to vilify his enemy that I 
mould not even be heard. For my part, faid Ger- 
trude, 1 never was before ajuAice, but I think if ne- 
eeflity and misfortune obliged me, I mould not be 
at all afraid to fpeak the truth, be it to whom it 
would ; my dear Leonard, don't be afraid, think of 
your wife and children, and go. — I tell you again I 
cannot, I dare not; moreover I am not quite blame- 
lefs. Collins will very deliberately call the neigh- 
bours to witnefs that 1 am but a raffling fellow. I 
am too confeious of it myfelf, Gertrude, and how 
dare I alledge any thing againfl him ? Not a man in 
the parifh would dare to fay what he really thinks for 
fear of him, although they know he has artfully 
drawn me into the extravagances I have committed. 
It is true, were he in my power, and I thought I 
could fucceed, I would complain with all my heart; 
but, confider a moment, fuppofe 1 fhould mifcarry 
as it is too probable, what would be the confequence? 
what have we not to expect 'from a man of his-mali- 
cious temper? — 'But, .my good friend, repliecK : 



trude, what will be the confequence if you are qui- 
et ? we mull be. inevitably ruined ! Leonard, think of 
3 our family, make hafte to put an end to a ft ate of 
torment which we can no longer endure. Go, I tell 
you, or I muft be obliged to go myfelf.— No, Ger- 
trude, I abfolutely cannot find courage. If you 
think you can, in the name of God lofe not a mo« 
>ment ; go to Sir James, and tell him every thing. 
Yes, aniwered (he, I am determined to go. But her 
anxiety kept her waking all night ; fhe paffed it in 
tears, and iupplications to Heaven which helped to 
confirm her refolution to have recourfe to her land- 
lord. 

The fun was hardly rifen when fhe began her 
journey, carrying with her the infant fhe nurfed ; 
and having walked fix long miles (he arrived at the 
Hall. Sir James was already rifen, and feated un- 
der a fhady lime which grew near the houfe, from 
whence he difcovered Gertrude and her child, and 
could trace in the countenance of the former the 
impreffion of her grief and her tears.— What is your 
pleafure, good woman ? who are you ? faid he, in a 
voice fo gentle and fo encouraging, thai it gave her 
confidence.—- My name is Geatrude, pleafe your 
honour ; pleafe you, Sir, Leonard the mafon's wife 
of Finelhade. — I know you to be a good induftri- 
ous woman, and I have" remarked your children 
amongft all the others in the village ; they appear 
civiler, and better taught than the reft ; they feem to 
be better taken care of, and yet they tell me you are 
very poor. Bat what fervice can 1 render you, my 
good woman? — My gracious matter, replied fhe, 
my hufband has long owed near four pounds to Mr. 
Collins, and he is a man without mercy. He, it is, 
who feduces my hufband to play, and leads him in- 
to every ruinous excefs; beiides, he has him fo 
much in awe, that he is afraid to leave the alehoufe, 



although he fquanders away almoft all his wage?. 
every day, and leaves his children to fcarve ; five 
children who fometimes want a morfel of bread. 
Unlefs your honour will condefcend to advife us, 
and to take us under your 'protection, we mud be 
ruined, we {hall be inevitably reduced to beggary. 
I know the extent of your goodnefs to the widow- 
ed and the fatherlefs, and that has given me the 
boldnefs to appear before you, and to lay open the 
mifery of our iituation. I have brought with me the 
fmall fum I have been able to fave for my little ones, 
which 1 freely offer you; if your honour will but 
fhelter my huiband from the refentment of the 
fleward, till fuch time as he has paid him every 
thing. 

Sir James had for fome time fufpe&ed Collins, 
which made him more readily believe the complaint 
well founded, and the requeft reafonable. A cup of 
tea happened to be poured out before him: he told 
her to help herfelf. You have been fading long, faid 
he ; take this, and give fome of the milk to that fine 
child. — She was all confufion, but made an effort 
to obey : his affability and kindnefs brought tears 
into her eyes. 

After a fhort filence, Sir James defired to be in- 
formed of all the particulars of his Reward's con- 
duct, and of her wretchednefs for fome years in con- 
fequence of it. He liftened with the greateft atten- 
tion, and at laft interrupted her by faying how much 
he was aftonifhed at her being able to fave the little 
pittance which belonged to her children. Sir, faid 
(he, it was often very difficult ; but I thought it my 
duty to confider the money not my own, but as a 
depoiit left by a dying man for the fupport of my fa- 
mily in emergencies. I always thought it fo, and if 
1 was fometimes obliged to encroach upon that fund 
to keep my family from ftarving, I never could be 



eafy till by labouring later at night, I had earn- 
ed fufficient to replace it. — But did you find that i'o 
eafy, Gertrude? Oh! your honour, when the mind is 
firmly fixed upon an object, it is capable of greater 
efforts than were at firft fuppofed. And beiides, I 
fancy God Almighty affifts the honeft endeavours 
of the poor. A rich gentleman, like you, enjoying 
every thing in abundance can hardly believe hbw far 
with God's aid we can make a virtue of necemty. 

Sir James was more and more pleafed with her 
fimplicitv and honefty, and having aiked her many 
other queftions, concluded by deliring to fee the 
children's favings. She directly took out of her pock- 
et five little packets neatly folded in paper, and laid 
them on the table. The name of the owner was 
written on each, with a memorandum of what had 
been at any time borrowed, and the manner 
and time of the repayment. Sir James read over the 
fuperfcriptions with great attention. Gertrude blush- 
ed and exculed herfelf faying, they were there 
by miftake: but he fmiled, and continued reading, 
while the poor woman Hood before himfo confufed, 
that her heart vifibiy palpitated. She was really mo- 
del! and humble, and was dili,refiTed at any thing that 
might be fuppofed to look like vanity. Sir James 
remarking her confufion upon the difcovery of the 
memorandums which (lie had forgotten to feparate, 
was {truck with the dignity of a pure mind, which 
{brinks from obfervation, and is amamed when its 
virtues meet the glare of day. He immediately de- 
termined to exceed the requefl, and go beyond the 
expectations of a woman, upon whofe merit he 
could fet a juft value., and who appeared to him not 
to have her equal amongft a thoufand. 

In folding up each of the little parcels, he added 
fome thing to it of his own. My good woman, faid 
he, cany to your children their little treafure: I *riU 



10 



take care to fet apart 3l. 15s. to fatisfy the Reward's 
demands. Return to Fineihade ; I have feme bufi- 
nefs there to-morrow, and upon my arrival, 1 will ib 
order matters as to put it out of Colin s's power to 
give you further uneafinefs. 

Gertrude was fo overjoyed it took from her the 
power of utterance: fhe could fcarce fay, fobbing and 
Hammering, God Almighty blefs your honour : and 
dropping a low courtefy, fet off upon her return 
home, her child in her arms, impatient to throw her- 
felf into thofe of her hulband, and to make him a 
partner in her happinefs. She hurried as fall as Hie 
could, and till Hie reached the cottage never eeafed 
returning thanks to God, mingled with tears of 
gratitude and hope. Leonard faw her coming, and 
could read in her eyes, the contentment of her 
heart. You are foon back, faid he immediately; you 
have been well received at the Hall. — Who could 
have told you fo already, my love? — I fee it in your 
eyes, my good friend; you cannot counterfeit. No, 
I cannot; nor would I, if I could, conceal from you 
one moment the good news I bring. And me be- 
gan to relate to him, word for word, the fatherly 
kindnefs of Sir James, with what confidence he had 
believed every thing (lie had faid, and the kind 
terms in which he had promifed them his protec- 
tion. She then diftributed amongft her children Sir 
James's prefent to each, and clafping them in 
her arms by turns, with more heartfelt joy than fhe 
had done for weeks before, commanded them to in- 
clude their honoured patron, whenever they offered 
up their prayers for their father and mother. The 
noble gentleman interefts himfelf in the well-being 
of all the neighbourhood; he interefts himfelf 
for you; and if you are honeft and induftrious, you 
may be as fure he will love you, as you are now lure 
your father and I love you. 



11 



Since that time Leonard's children have never 
failed, morning and evening, in praying for their 
parents", to include Sir James Grant, the Father of 
the country. 

This was a day of fmcere rejoicing and thankfgiv- 
ing to the mafon and his wife, wherein they made 
new determinations, and took frefh meafures to ef- 
tablifh order in their houfehold, to watch with 
greater anxiety the education of their children, and 
to guide them by their example, in the paths of 
virtue and religion. Leonard felt his courage 
revive, and towards evening Gertrude prepared 
for him his favourite fupper : they fat down cheer- 
fully together, impatient for the morrow which 
was to make them rejoice in the fubflantial effects 
of Sir James Grant's fatherly protection. On the 
other hand the Baronet was not lefs impatient 
to iignalize the day by an acl of benevolence; op- 
portunities for which he was forever feeking, as 
the means of affording himfelf the moft fubflantial 
pleafure and happinefs. 



CHAP. III. 



A Monster in the human shape. 



T 



HE fame evening Collins the ftewardhap- 
peningto go to the Hall for orders, Sir James told him 
he fhould go to Finefhade the next day, and give 
final orders for the rebuilding of the church. Your 
Honour then, has no more work for your own ma- 
fon. — I am not thinking of him, replied Sir James; 
but you have Leonard in the village, aj^ood work- 



12 

man, and I fhall be very glad to give him this job: 
why have you never recommended him? — I never 
dared, anfwered the (leward, making a low bow, re- 
commend fo very poor a man to be employed 
in your honour's buildings. — Is he an honeft man? 
tell me, may I truft him? — Ohi yes, your honour 
you may; he is only too honeft. — They tell me his 
wife is an indufirious woman; but is lhe not a little 
talkative, hey? — Indeed, Sir, I know no harm of her; 
file is a very hard-working woman, and no gof- 
fip that I ever heard. Very well; remember to be in 
the church-yard to-morrow about nine o'clock, and 
we will fettle this matter. 

The fteward took his leave and went away, re- 
joiced at what he had juft heard. He began alrea- 
dy to think how he could bed pluck the poor mafon, 
and calculated aforehand the mare he fhould have 
in the gains from the new employment. He ftrutted 
along, and the moment he arrived at the mafon's 
door he knocked. It was juft dark: Leonard and 
Gertrude were at table, talking over the remains of 
their fupper. 

Upon hearing the fteward's voice, Leonard im- 
mediately concluded he was come with fome evil 
intention: he was afraid he would remark their 
fupper which he pufhed away, and trembling open- 
ed the door, while Gertrude encouraged him, and 
bid him recollecl that Sir James had promifed to 
ftand his friend. Collins entered, and had his 
noftrils immediately faluted by the favoury fmell of 
the dimes they had hid: no hound could mew a 
finer no'fe. However he affumed a good humoured 
look, and faid, though a little fneeringly, Oh, ho ! 
my friends, you have been feafting charmingly 1 At 
this rate it is no wonder if you forget the alehoufe, 
hey, Leonard? — He, poor fellow, quite pale, and 
his eyes caft down, knew not what to fay. Gertrude 



15 



wifbecl he might be damned, if he knew what pof- 
feffed thefe people. Leonard was not a little agi- 
tated by this fcene, but the Reward was ready to 
choke. 



CHAP. IV. 



" Birds of a feather, flock together." Ton may know 
a man by the company he keeps. 

XT was near midnight; but no fooner had 
Collins reached home, than late as it was, he fent 
for two of Leonard's neighbours, deliring them to 
come to him immediately. They got up, drefled 
themfelves, and hurried through a very dark night 
to the fleward's houfe. After all the queflions he 
could think of, relating to what had paft within the 
few iaft days at Leonard's, he did not get the inform- 
ation he wifhed. This put him out of all pa- 
tience, and miftaking the .object of his fury, dis- 
charged it upon them. 

Ah! fcoundrels! faicl he, if one expecls to find 
one's end in employ ingfuch rafcallions, it is certain 
difappointment : but I warrant I'll be a match for 
you. Is it for this that I have connived at your 
thefts and depredations ? When I have feen you 
come home loaded with wood itolen from Sir 
James's hedges, and have feen your cows fcores of 
times in his honour's meadow without faying a 
word ; is this the return you make me ? As 'to you, 
Penrofe, you know I was privy to your penury, and 
kept your fecret ; and did you think I irVoiild be fa- 
tisfied with a couple of loads of bad hay? I have 



16 

not forgotten it. And, as for you, Carlton, you old 
fmner, you who cheated your brother's children of 
the garth you now poffefs ; it is to much purpofe I 
fayed you from the gallows, if this is the return you 
make. 

This addrefs ftaggered the two fellows Why? 

Mr. Collins, what would you have us do ? There 
is no fuch thing as contenting you, though we flave 
night and day — . Oh ! poor innocent rafcals, you> can 
do nothing, you know nothing to be fure. I can- 
not fpeak for vexation ; but coft me what it will, I 
am determined to find out what has been going on 
this laft week at that beggarly mafon's : there is 
fome deep fecret I am fure. And fo faying he 
flamped about like a madman. 

Penrofe began now to recollec~l himfelf ; Harkye, 
Collins, harkye ; I verily think I can quiet you, it 
is juft come into my head. Yes, Gertrude was out 
all day on Thurfday, and towards night, their little 
Louifa chattering by the well, was full of Sir James 
Grant, and how good a gentleman he was ; my life 
for it, Gertrude has been at the Caftle. The even- 
ing before we heard nothing but fobs and roaring 
in the houfe, and now they feem quite happy and 
cheerful. 

The {leward immediately adopted this idea; but 
it made him ftorm more than ever. He uttered 
the moil horrible imprecations ; he abufed his Ho- 
nour for liftening to the tale of every idle vagabond, 
and vowed vengeance againft Leonard and Ger- 
trude. 

But, harkye, comrades, faid lie, to his two rogues, 
mum's the word; I muft fmiie uponthefe wretches, 
till I fee the time to bite. Watch carefully, and 
bring me w r ord of every thing that paffes at their 
houfe, and depend upon it I'll make you amends ; 
yoi 1 .. know I am never ungrateful. Then taking 



17 



Penrofe a little on one fide; he faid, have you any 
guefs who ftole thofe flower-pots that were miffing 
t'other day? You were feen going towards the 
next town with almoft an afs's burthen on your back : 
what had you got? 

Who? 1 1 1 had, I -! 

No matter, no matter, faid Collins ; only ferve 
me truly, and it fhall be the better for you. 

It was almoft morning when our two neighbours 
went home. Collins threw himfeif upon his bed, 
and tumbled about reftlefs for an hour: he rumi- 
nated projects of revenge ; fometimes he dozed, 
and in the agitations of his mind, he grated his 
teeth, beat the devil's tattoo, and the moment the 
day dawned he darted up. 

After mature confideration, Collins refolved to 
call again upon Leonard, and to fubmit to the irk- 
fome neceflity of telling him, that he had recom- 
mended him to Sir James to rebuild the church. 
He accordingly went in fearch of him, putting the 
belt face upon the matter he was able. 

Leonard and Gertrude had paffed this night 
more comfortably than many.of the preceding ones ; 
their firft care was to implore the benediction of 
Heaven upon the day that promifed the protection 
of their good landlord. This act of devotion ierved 
to calm their minds, and fpread an air of ferenity 
and content over their countenances, when the ftew- 
ard arrived. Their fatisfaction was too vifible 
for his peace : he was Rung to the quick ; and the 
wicked wretch felt his choler boil within him. He 
contrived however to fmother it ; with an appear- 
ance of kindnefs he bid them, Good day, and ad- 
dreffing himfeif to Leonard, he faid, We looked a 
little my at each other yefterday, but I hope that is 
at an end. I have fome good news foryou : I had 
C2 



18 



been at the Caflle, where amongfl other things the 
rebuilding of the church was talked of. Sir J ames 
enquired a good deal about you ; and I did not fail 
to tell him that I thought you equal to the job : and 
I don't doubt but you will have the preference. So 
you fee, we can aflift each other; and it maybe as 
well in future, not to give fuch eafy way to paffion. 
— But Sir James has already agreed with his own 
mafon ; you faid fo at the veftry meeting long ago. 
I thought fo then, but I was miftaken ; he only gave 
the plan, and I have no doubt he made that a good 
job. If they fhould give you the fame latitude, 
you may make money by handfuls. Now, friend 
Leonard, you can no longer dotibt of my good- 
will. 

The poor fellow, delighted with fo good a pro- 
fpec\ thanked the He ward with all his heart. But 
Gertrude, whofe fufpicion was roufed, was lefs re- 
joiced: fhe thought fhe difcovered in Collins's ill— 
difguifed rancour, and under his affected fmiles, 
nothing but ill-will. 

As he went away, he told them, Sir James 
Grant would be in the village in about an hour — 
We have known that ever fince yefterday, faid the 
little Louifa, who flood by her father — This little 
circumftance vexed the fteward ; but he pretended 
to take no notice : while Gertrude, v/ho imagined 
he was already calculating upon the plunder of her 
bufband, felt uneaiy. 



19 



CHAP. V. 



The Steward finds a Talking-mate. 

XLxACTLY at nine o'clock, Sir James arri- 
ved. He was foon furrounded by a crowd, anxious 
to fee their good landlord, and they followed him 
to the church-yard. 

Have you nothing to do, you fellows, or is it 
holiday to-day, that you fwarm in this manner? 
faid the fteward, in a rough voice to thofe who had 
got the neareft. He was in hopes of difperfmg 
them, as he was always jealous leaft they mould 
overhear the orders he received. 

Sir James, aware of what he aimed at, faid aloud, 
No, no, let them alone : I like to fee thefe good 
folks about me: and befides, I have a mind that 
they mould know what are my intentions refpecling 
the church : why do you drive them away ? 

Upon this Collins bowed to the ground, and haft - 
ened to call them back — Here, neighbours, return ; 
his honour will fuffer you to approach him.... Have 
you feen the eftimate for the building? faid Sir 
James, Yes, your honour, faid the fteward — Do 
you think Leonard is equal to the execution of it, 
at that price? — Certainly, your honour — Then low- 
ering his voice, he faid; confidering he lives upon 
tire fpot, he might afford to do it fomething cheap- 
er — But Sir James took no notice of it. I muft 
have given this price to my own mafon ; and if 
there is any thing to be gainea by the job, I mall 
be very glad that Leonard mould have the benefit 



20 



of it. Let him be called ; and pray remember, that 
whatever afliftance the other would have derived 
from my woods or magazines, is intended to be 
allowed to him. 

When they went in fearch of the mafon, he was 
juft gone to the other end of the village : fa Ger- 
trude refolved to go herfelf to Sir James, and tell 
him at once her uneafy fufpicions. Upon light of 
the wife inftead of the hufband, returning with the 
meffenger, Collins turned as pale as death — What's 
the matter? faid his mailer: ar'n't you well?.... 
O, nothing, your honour, nothing at all ; only I got 
no fleep laft night — I mould have thought as much 
from your looks: and fo faying, he fixed his eyes 
upon him fo ftedfaftly that the confcious fteward 
turned as red as fire — Then turning to Gertrude,, 
and bidding her good day, in a gentle voice, Sir 
James afked what was become of her hufband ? but 
no matter, tell him to come to me at the Caftie ; I 
mall let him the rebuilding of the church. 

Gertrude was for a moment fiient ; almofl amam- 
ed to fpeak before fo many people — You fay no- 
thing, Gertrude : I mean to let him the work, at 
the fame price my own mafon would have taken it; 
and you make no anfwer : I thought it would have 
given you pleafure, my good woman. 

O yes, your honour, to be fure it would ; only the 
church is fo very near the public-houfe. 

At thefe words the whole afTembly fell a laugh- 
ing; but wifhing to conceal it from the fteward 
they turned away from him, and directly towards 
Sir James. Collins, perceiving that this did hot 
efcape his mafter, turned fiercely to Gertrude^ and 
afked her what me had to fay againfl his houfe ? — 
How does it concern you, Collins ? faid Sir Jame< ; 
her difcourfe was not addreffed to you. Explain 
yburfelf, my good Gertrude ; what's yoitr cbjecticn 



21 

to the church being fo near the alehoufe ? — Dear! 
your honour, becaufe my hulband is too eafily per- 
suaded to take a cup, and I am afraid when lie 
comes to work every day fo near temptation, O 
dear me I he never will be able to rcfift. — But why 
can't he keep out of the houfe, if he is fo eafily 
tempted 1 — Ah, Sir, hard work, is dry work ; and 
when he will be conftantly within hearing of the 
perfuafion, or the mockings of tiplers, fome offer- 
ing him liquor, and others challenging him to 
drink ; I am afraid my poor hufband wiU.be drawn 
in: and then if he mould contract new debts, we 
ihould be utterly undone. If your honour did but 
know how. a poor man may involve himfelf in a An- 
gle night, in fuch places as thefe, fo as perhaps 
never to be his own man again. 

I know it but too well, anfwered Sir James ; and 
I am fo afFe&ed by what you told me yefterday, 
that I am determined in the prefence of all thefe 
good people, to put a flop this very day to thefe 
jhameiul impofitions.— - Then • turning fuddenlv 
to the fteward, he {aid fternly, and with a lookthuc 
almoft went through him; How comes it, Collins, 
that poor men are firft inveigled into your houfe, 
and then impofed upon, and pillaged ? 

Pale, and confounded, the fteward anfwered, 
Never, your honour, never in my life did I hear 
the like, and ever fmce I became fteward. — Here 
he was obliged to wipe his forehead, which ran 
down in ftreams : he coughed, he was almoft choak- 
ed. Then continued, It is very aftonifhing— - — 

You feera fadly, confufed by a very fnnple o^ief- 
tion, faid Sir James ; but tell me, is it true that you 
extort money from thefe poor people, and that when 
once they get within your clutches, they never can 
extricate themfelves, Ihort of ruin to themfelves 
and families? 



22 



No, certainly, your honour; but this is what one 
always gets by {hewing kindnefs to fuch beggarly 
varlets. I might have forefeen it: this is always 
the return they make, this is their payment. 

Never mind talking of payment now, Collins ; all 
I want to know is, whether what this woman has 
told me, is true or falfe — Nothing can be more 
falfe, your honour; I can bring a thoufand wit- 
neffes One will be enough; but confider a mo- 
ment, Collins : you remember you told me yefter- 
day, that this Gertrude was a good honeft woman, 
induftrious, and nothing of a goffip. 

I don't know 1 1 -I recollecl. — You 

afked me .1 did I did, think her fo, 

He could hardly breathe. — You are too much 
agitated, to give me the information I want : I muft 
apply to thefe two honeft men before me ; and fo 
faying, he called to two elderly countrymen, dif- 
tinguilhed by their honeft and attentive countenan- 
ces, and faid, Pray tell me, my good friends^ is it 
true that unfair means are taken in the alehoufe, to 
decoy men firft, and then to cheat them ? 

At this queftion the two men looked at each 
other, without making any anfwer. But Sir James 
encouraged them, faying, Don't be afraid, fpeak 
the honeft truth openly. — It is certainly too true. 
Sir, faid the eldeft of the men, but (continuing in a 
low voice only heard by Sir James) what end can 
it anfwer to poor men like us to complain of the 
fteward? — That's enough, my good old man, faid 
Sir James, and turning to Collins he faid, It was no 
part of my intention to inquire into this matter to- 
day; but I am determined to refcue my poor 
tenants from every fpecies of oppreffion, and I have 
long thought it improper that the public-houfe 
mould be kept by my fteward. I'll fettle this mat- 
ter on monday. As for you, Gertrude, you u 



?3 

tell your hufband to come to me at the Caftle ; and 
you may make yourfelf eafy, I'll (land between him 
and all danger from the aieho.ufe. 

Sir James then fettled fome other bufmefs, and 
returned home by way of the neighbouring foreft.- 
H'is fleward accompanied him, and as it was late 
when they fet forward, the night was far advanced 
when he got back to the village. As he approach- 
ed his own houfe, and faw no lights burning, his 
heart mifgave him, more especially as all was qui- 
et. In fa6l, his alehoufe was feldom free from to- 
pers in an evening, and every window was ufed to 
fhine from the numerous candles upon every 
table, and the riot was heard from one end of the 
ftreet to the other. He was alarmed at fo unufual 
a filence, and throwing open the door in a rage, he 
bawled out, What's all this about? what has hap- 
pened that nobody is here ? — His wife was fobbing 
m a corner. What you're come at laft ? faid fhe. 
You little know what has happened 1 All your ene- 
mies in the village are upon their high horfes, and 
there is not a foul has dared to come and drink a 
pint of beer. Every one is convinced you were 
feized in the foreft, and have been carried prifoner 
to Caftle Grant. 

Like a mad bull fecured by cords, wbofe eves 
flam fire, and who exhaufts himfelf in vain efforts 
to regain his liberty : fo Collins, almoft mad with 
rage, (lamped and ftared about, vowing vengeance 
againft his mafter, and abufing all the nobility and 
gentry in a bod}'. 

So then, faid he, as foon as his fury would allow 
him, fo we are ail to be cheated of our rights : he 
will only grant a licence according to his own non- 
fenfical whims, and he will put down my poor 
houfe, which time out of mind has been attached to 
the ftewardihip. There was a time when I ruled 



24 



the roaft in the village ; but now this monkey of a 
landlord chufes to poke his nofe every where, and 
gives himfelf the airs of a pariih fchoolmafter 
amongft his fcholars. By this means every rafcal- 
lion thinks himfelf at liberty to infijlt a man in of- 
fice; becaufe Sir James Grant, forfooth thinks 
proper to liften to every idle complaint. We offi- 
cers lofe all our authority, and mult fit mum chance, 
like the meaneft vaffal amongft them, while he 
alters old-eftablifhed laws, according to his fancy, 
and reduces us to mere cyphers. 

Thus did this wretch run on in invectives again ft 
the good and wife Sir James Grant, conftruing all 
his actions into faults, and meditating fchemes of 
vengeance, till, quite weary and worn out, he fell 
alleep. 



CHAP. V. 



Genuine Village Tittle-tattle. 



^OLLlNS was ftirring with the lark, and in 
order to appear unconcerned at what had patted 
the preceding evening, he placed himfelf at the 
window, and began to whiftle and fmg. 

His neighbour Williams called to him acrofs the 
ftreet ; What are your cuftomers come fo early, 
that you feem fo gay ? fmiling inwardly as he afked 
the queftion. 

All in good time, friend Williams, faid the 
fteward ; and continued to fmg : 

So I tipp'd him the grog, and he fwigg'd it, 
Which fet the old coger agog. 



25 



And he fwigg'd, and Dick fwigg'd, and Ben 

fwigg'd, and we all fwigg'd, 
And fwore there was nothing like grog. 

Then taking a match to light his pipe ; — Won't 
you come in, and take a mug this morning ? 

Williams. It's too early; befides I'll wait till 
you have more company. 

Collins. You're always cracking your jokes; 
but believe me the fun of yefterday won't be fo 
much amifs. Let a bird fly ever fo high, it muft 
come down at laft. 

Williams. All that may very well be ; my bird 
has been a long time upon wing: but perhaps our 
birds are not of the fame feather. Will you be of 
the party, fteward? they are calling me to breakfaft. 
So faying, Williams fhut his window. 

This rogue is rather crafty, muttered Collins ; 
and fhook his head with vexation, till his very hair 
was ruffled, and his cheeks trembled. I fhaU have 
the devil to do, to wipe away this infernal adven- 
ture of yefterday : but, courage, let us fee what a 
mug of ale will do. For new work, new meafures. 
To-day's faturday, snd woolly knaves get fhorn to- 
day ; I'll away to the barber's, and fee what a pot of 
beer will do amongft them. They'll take my word 
ten times, for once they believe the parfon. 

Encouraged by this reafoning, he bid his wife fill 
his pouch with tobacco — not fuch as I ufe, but 
fome mundungas, good enough for fuch rif-raff, 
And harkye, when the barber's boy comes for fome 
beer, fend fome of that heady fluff, with half a glafs 
of brandy in every pint. He went out, but recol- 
lecting himfelf, he came back; d'ye hear, wife! 
there may be fome knaves in our company ; I may 
as well be upon my guard : when 1 fend for fome old 
amber, fend me a mug of water, coloured with li« 
D 



26 



quorice, or rather, bring it yourfelf. — So laying, 
away he went. 

He had not reached the barber's, when he met 
Nichols and Raikes, chatting under the elm before 
the fchool-houfe. — Where's Mr. Steward going in 
his faturday jirkin? laid Nichols. 

Steward. I am going to get lhaved. 

Nichols, Indeed ! what on a faturday morning? 

Steward, It's true, that does not often happen. 

Nichols, No, and for the moft part, your time 
for ihaving, is during morning fervice on a funday. 

Steward. Once or twice, perhaps. 

Nichols. Once or twice ? You're talking of the 
two laft funday s, furely ? For fmce our minifter had 
your dog turned out of church, you have never ap- 
peared there. 

Steward. Are you mad, Nichols, with your 
nonfcnfe ? We mult all live, eat our daily bread, and 
forgive our enemies. It is very long fmce I thought 
no more about that filly bufmefs of my dog. 

Nichols. I mould be forry to truft you, were I 
the parfon. 

Steward, I tell you again, you are mad, Nichols. 
Why wouldn't you truft me pray? But come let us 
to the barber's : perhaps there will be fome beer go- 
ing on, or fome other fun. 

Nichols. Truely, he would be in a pretty fcrape 
with you, if he allowed beer to be drunk at his 
houfe ! 

Steward. I am not fo very interefted a man 
as you take me for; and befides, you know they're 
going to take away my licence ! But, my cocky, 
we're not come to that yet ; and he who ventures to 
interfere with my rights may chance to bring 
an old houfe about his ears. 

Nichols. Very likely : but I think matters have 
not gone quite fo fmooth with you fmce the young 



27 

Squire profefled a new creed from his grandfather. 

Steward, ? Tis true, he has not quite fo eaiy 
a fw allow as the old man. 

Nichols. I could almofl think they were of quite 
a different faith. 

Steward. Aye marry, the old man was a better 
ehriftian than this. 

Nichols. No doubt his firft article of faith was, 
" I believe in thee my fleward 1" 

Steward. Very well ; and the fecond ? 

Nichols. I can hardly tell you off hand ; but 
fomethingin this way : < c I believe every thing thou 
telleft me, Collins : and not a word from any body 
elfe." 

Steward. You ought to be our curate, Nichols ; 
for you not only explain the belief, but you 
can make a new one for us. 

Nichols. No not I; they would not let me: 
or if they would, I mould make it fo very plain, 
children might underftand it, and ehen there would 
be no need of a parfon. 

Steward. We had better remain as we are, 
Nichols : the old belief is good enough: in trying 
to mend, we often fpoil. 

Nichols. A good maxim enough, but not always 
true ; and I think there will be an exception in our 
young Squire, if we may form any judgment from 
the way he has begun with you. 

Steward. You had better draw your conclufions 
from others, or mind your own bufmeis. For my 
part, I care little about this new fprig of a Squire ; 
fomebody will be uppermoft. 

Nichols. Right, right. But ftill it was a blac-k 
day for you, when the old gentleman was put under 
ground laftfummer. 

Steward. I have had my harveft, Nichols ; that's 
enough for me. Let others take their turn* 



28 



Nichols. True enough, you have profited won- 
derfully. But if matters fhould go a little crofs ; 
the attorney, the bailiff, and the vicar, were all 
your debtors you know. 

Stezvard. Mere fcandal : there was not a word 
of truth in it. 

Nichols. Aye, fo you pretend at prefent ; and (till 
you fued out a writ againfl two of them, be- 
caufe they would not pay you. 

Stezvard. How came you to know that, you 
rafcal ? 

Nichols. Oh I I know more than that ; I know 
your tricks in Roughwater's affair, when you lay 
hid amongfl the draw upon your belly, under his 
window till two o'clock in the morning; that 
you might over-hear all that paffed between him and 
his lawyer. You know I was the watch that night, 
and you let me drink at free coll; for a week, 
to make me hold my tongue. 

Steward. Tltou art a rogue for faying fo ; it's all 
a lie, and I'll make thee prove thy words. 

Nichols. Oh, as to proof, that matters little now ; 
but you know well enough I fpeak truth. 

Stezvard. Aye, aye, you do well to flubber over 
the bufinefs ; you can bring no proof. 

Nichols. Why the devil himfelf muft have fuggeft- 
ed the thought of hiding yourfelf amongft the 
11 raw ; and then when you had got at all they had to 
fay, it was an eaiy matter with the attorney's aid, 
^to alter your deposition. 

Stetvard. Why you talk like a madman. 

Nichols. Like a madman? If when it came to 
be tried, the attorney had not new modelled your 
depoiition, Roughwater would have )iad his clofe 
ftill ; and neither Doughty, nor Jerom would have 
beea foriworn. 



29 

Stexvard. You underftand juft as much of juftice, 
as our fchoolmafter does of Hebrew. 

Nichols. Why if this matter were Hebrew, you 
could explain it to me. Have you not more than 
twenty times joked about " your very humble 
fervant" the attorney ? . - 

Steward. Very well ; but for all that, he never 
did what you pretend : though I agree, he was as 
cunning as the devil himfelf. God be with him ; 
come Michaelmas, it will be juft ten years fmce he 
went to heaven. 

Nichols. To the devil, you mean. 

Steward. For fhame, for fhame ; you mould 
never fpeak ill of the dead. 

Nichols. That's true enough ; or elfe I would juft 
mention that pretty writing he drew up, to cheat 
Thomas's children. 

Stexvard. You feem fo knowing he muft have 
made a confeffion to you on his- death-bed. 

Nichols. Whether he did or not, you fee I know 
a thing or two. 

Steward. Well, well, I gained the caufe ; if you 
could know that I had loft it, I mould have had 
fome reafon to be forry. 

Nichols. No, I know you gained it ; and I know 
by what means too. 

Steward. Perhaps you do, perhaps you don't. 

Nichols. Heaven protect us poor fellows from 
attorneys' pens ; that's all. 

Stexvard. You're right; pens fhould only be 
in the hands of honeft men, who have made their 
fortunes : that would be much better. But as there 
are many other abufes which want a remedy, friend 
Nichols, we muft e'en content ourfelves as we are. 

Nichols. Mr. Steward, that puts me in mind of a 
fable, I once heard a pedlar tell. The man came 
from Cornwall, and there were above twenty of us 
D2 



30 



at dinner : when he faid fome hermit had compofed 
a book of fables, where the whole world was defcrib- 
ed; and that he knew them by heart from the 
beginningto the end. We begged he would relate 
; and he told ns this, that your obfervation 
-makes me remember. 

" A Ewe was complaining one day how hard it 
' * was that the wolf, the dog, and the butcher, mould 
** be fuch inveterate enemies of all her race. A 
" Fox, who was prowling about the fheepfold, 
" overhearing her, faid .• We fliould be perfectly 
" fatisfied with the admirable order fo perceptible 
" in every thing here below ; if things were other- 
" wife, all would go from bad to worfe. — 1 can 
" eafily believe that, faid the Ewe, fo long as the 
" fold is well guarded ; but if once you could get 
" your nofe into it, that maxim would no longer 
" have any truth for me." 

" Nobody dare pretend to fay that there mould 
" be no wolves, nor foxes, nor other voracious 
" animals : but ftill nobody will difpute that it 
*' is a great happinefs for poor fheep, that there are 
" iirong folds, into which they cannot penetrate ; 
14 and moreover vigilant fhepherds, and hardy 
" dogs to protect them." — " May a merciful God 
" protecl my cottage," added the Pedlar ; " it is fur- 
<i rounded by too many of thefe voracious animals, 

<c and we have but few fliepherds. Eternal Fa- 

" ther ! Thouknoweft the caufe of this j it becomes 
" u. to be filent." 

" Yes," faid his companions, " fpeech was not 
" given us to complain :" and they added this pray- 
" er ; Bleffed Jefus ! Son of God ? help us now, and 
u for evermore, Amen." 



31 



A few reflections at the end of this preachment, 
not being fo exactly according to the (Reward's tatle; 
he pretended that the barber's (hop would be more 
comfortable, as it was rather cold : and as he could 
not perfuade our villagers to accompany him, he 
took a hafty leave, faying, Bye, bye, neighbours. 

Nichols and Raikes continued to chat on. The 
latter faid to the other, You have given him fait to 
his meat. 

Nichols. I wifh it had been peppered too, and 
had burnt his throat. 

Raikes. You dared not have faid as much a 
week ago. 

Nichols. Nor would he have anjwered fo mild- 
ly a week ago. 

Raikes. That's true too : he is become as tame 
as my cur dog was, the firft time he was muzzled. 

Nichols. When the meafure's full, it will run 
aver ; and what has always been truth, will ftill be 
truth, in fpite of the fteward and his two acres of 
good land. 

Raikes. But if they would make thee fleward, 
with half an acre ; what thinlc'il thou ? 

Nichols. Out, you dolt. 

Raikes. But now you, who think yourfelf fo 
wife j what would you do ? I'll bet you a pint you'd 
clofe at the firft offer; you'd get your cloak on 
quickly, and your fervant, Mr. Steward. 

Nichols. Think you fo ? 

Raikes. Aye, marry do I. 

Nichols. Come we are lofing our time : farewell, 
Raikes. 

Raikes. Good-bye, Nichols. 



SO 



CHAP. VII. 



The Steward shews a Trick of his Trade, 

vJ PON entering the barber's mop, the ftew- 
ard, contrary to his ufual cuftom, faluted the bar- 
ber, his wife, and all the cuftom ers ; even before 
he had taken his feat, or cleared his throat with 
two or three hems. In general he ufed to flounce 
down into a chair, and after a few coughs, he would 
condefcend to fay, " Good-day." 

The company returned his compliments rather 
fueeringly, and replaced their hats much fooner 
than common. A thriving trade, mailer barber, 
faid Collins, to break the ice ; I wonder how one 
pair of hands can get through fo much bufmefs, — 
The barber, the moft iilent of his trade, was not 
over ready to make any anfwer ; but as the fteward 
had never failed for many fundays paft, to come 
during fervice to be fhaved ; and had cracked his 
jokes upon him in a moil unmerciful manner; he 
thought this a good opportunity to retaliate a little, 
and faid, Mr. Steward, you mould not wonder that 
with two hands and much labour, one has fmall 
profits ; but the wonder is, that with two hands 
that do nothing one mould get rich. — You are right, 
barber ; try the experiment : this is all you have to 
do — Place your hands one upon the other, in a cer- 
tain pofition ; and obferve certain rules, and money 
will come tumbling down the chimney in a heap. — 
No, faid the barber, taking frefh courage ; the way 
is, to put on a fteward's cloak, and repeat thefe few 



33 



words : a I fay, it is fo ;* — I take my oath it is fo :" 
and then, holding up three fingers, and pronouncing 
" Abracadabra," the money bags are filled directly. 

Upon this Collins burft out into a violent fury, 
telling the barber with many imprecations, that he 
was a matter conjurer, and that fellows of his trade 
had always fome dealings with the devil. — ^The 
poor fhaver was fain to dfraw in his horns, he re- 
pented of the attack he had made upon the furious 
fteward, and went on lathering one of his cuftom- 
ers. — The fteward rofe, as the other funk : This 
gentleman, faid he, gives himfelf fine airs : he will 
fcarce condefcend to give one an anfwer. Behold 
his elegant jacket, made after the laft fafhion ; large 
buckles in his {hoes, and his funday Hurt with ruf- 
fles to it. His hands are as delicate as a lord's, 
with a fmart leg like a dancing-mafter. 

Thefe were old jokes, and produced no effecl 
upon the company, who loved and refpecled the 
barber. There was only Pudfey, who was a little 
tickled by the idea of the dancing-mailer's leg, be- 
caufe he had lately feen him, and thought there 
was a refemblance. But unluckily he was at that 
moment under the barber's hands, and his fudden 
laugh coft him a deep cut in his upper lip. The 
company (hook their heads with diipleafure, and 
old Hallet, taking his pipe out of his mouth, faid, 
'J Can't you let the barber alone, Mr. Steward r" 

This exertion of courage infpired the reft, and 
there was a general murmer of, " Poor Pudfey ! 
what a gafli he has got'. If this work is to go on, 
let them be ihaved who will." 

The fteward faid he was very forry for what had 
happened, and would make amends. u Bov, go to 
my houfe, and fetch three gallons of the beft ale : 
it will heal all fores, I warrant." At the fole men- 
tion of ale, all was quiet in an inftant ; and yet fome 



34 



amongft them could hardly think Collins was in 
earned. 

Buckthorne, who fat quietly in the corner, ex- 
plained the riddle, by faying that ale was fallen in 
price, fmce the meeting of the day before in the 
church-yard. — The fteward pretended not- to hear 
this ', but difplayed his tobacco-pouch upon the ta- 
ble. The firfl who afked him for a pipe, was Grigg 
the fidler : and then the others followed one by one, 
till the (hop reeked like a dunghill. The cunning 
fteward had filled his pipe with choice tobacco from 
his private pouch, and paced penfively up and down 
the room. He was uneafy to obferve the difcon- 
tented air of the barber, and his cuftomers in adif- 
pofition fo ill fuited to his intended projects. 

This is a cold climate, faid he to himfelf ; if I 
cannot warm it I fhall be difgraced. This thought 
made him go in fearch of the maid, and he gave 
her two-pence to put fome more wood on the fire ; 
fo that in a few minutes the mop was like an oven. 



CHAP. VIII. 



Once begun is half atchieved. 



A' 



•T this moment the muzzy ale arrived. 
Hollo ! Mr. Barber, let's have fome glaffes. The 
order was obeyed in an inftant. Glaffes were 
brought, and the whole company crowding round 
the jugs, were helped by the fteward. 

Good-humour was foon reftored, and even old 
Hallet's four phiz was cleared up. Pudfey's cut 
Mp was forgotten — why could not the fool lit ftill 1 



35 



Their tongues (con became oiled, and as it always 
haopcns in ajollyfet, 

They fquabble and difpute, 

They drink and roar aloud, 
All talkers, none ere mate, 

None hear, in all the crowd. 

They only agreed in their commendations of the 
Reward, and in abufmg the poor mafon Leonard. 
At one table he was a rogue ; at another a thief. 
Some remarked, that from the habit of getting 
drunk every day, he fuddenlv affedted the faint. 
One faid it was plain enough to fee why the pretty 
Gertrude, and not her hufband, went to the Caflle, 
Another had feen him with a woeful long face, 
dreading the Reward's refentment. 

This difcourfe was to Collins what mud is to 
a mangy fow. But fliil he was very circumfpe6t and 
wary. 

Neighbour, faid he to one of the church wardens 
as he filled his glafs, you were amongft thofe who 
overhauled my accounts ; did not the mafon there 
owe me 3l. 15s ? Well, it is above fix months fmce, 
and he has never paid me one farthing: I have 
never faicj. a word to him about it, and perhaps 
I mall never get a milling. 

Not one milling, depend upon it, was the univer- 
fal cry, as they drank off their glaffes. 

Collins, quietly taking out his pocket-book, pro- 
duced Leonard's note. " You fee, gentlemen, I 
truth." They all very wifely looked at the 
note as if they could have read it, and then with 
one voice roared out, " That fcoundrel mafon 1" 

Juft then Grigg the fidler, who had hither- 
to been filent, too much occupied by his ale to fpeak, 
wiped his mouth upon his fleeve, got up with his 



36 

glafs in his hand, raifed it above his head and roared 
out, " Long life to Mafter Steward, and confufton 
to his enemies." Then tofled off his glafs, got 
it filled again, drank it, and fung: 

A rafcal fo loofe 

Who his neighbour wou'd noofe, 

Tho' a coach he may keep 

Merits nought but a whip. 

Whip him, neighbour, whip him well, 
Whip him till the truth he tell. 

That rogue ne'er will mend, 
Who tells tales of his friend ; 
Tho' he gain e'er fo fait 
He'll be hang'd up at laft. 
Whip him, &c. 

Huzza! the Steward for ever. Down with the 

Mafoni 



CHAP. IX, 



Parish Business, 



1~*ESS noife, Mailer Grigg, lefs noife ; faid 
Collins: that will do no good. I fhould be very 
forry to do Leonard any injury ; I forgive him with 
all my heart ; he has been driven by want to do what 
he has done ; but I am forry we have no protection 
for our rights. 

At thefe words all the men pricked up their ears, 
and were filent. Some of them moved their glaffes 



on one fide, and were all attention to the danger 
that threatened their rights. 

I am finking fall into years, faid the ftew- 
ard, and my lots can't be great, for I have no fami- 
ly : but for you^ my good neighbours who have 
lads growing up j you mould for their fakes, "attend 
to your privileges. 

O dear, aye, our privileges and our common 
rights, cried all the topers : you are fteward, let the 
people fay what they will, and you ought to prevent 
encroachments. — Certainly, neighbours, the parilli 
has a right to a public-houfe ; it is a privilege of the 
greateft importance, and we rauft not fubmit to 
have it put down. 

Here he rather overfhot his mark ; for fome of 
the men whifpered, that he had never troubled 
himfelf about the rights of the parifh till they affect- 
ed him ; and now he wanted to draw them in 
to fight his battles. 

Moft of them however raged, and fwore they 
would immediately call a parifh meeting. The riot 
increafed ; fo that a few of the moft reafonable 
amongft the company agreed to keep quiet till 
their courage was out. , 

The fteward kept quite fober; he drank nothing 
but the liquorice water that his wife had brought 
"him ; being determined to take advantage of the 
fermentation he had endeavoured to excite. You 
all know, faid he, what battles old Collifon ufed to 
have with the wicked great grandfather of our pre- 
fent Squire. I have heard my grandfather repeat a 
favourite faying of his, over and over again. " When 
landlords pay their court to the riff-raff of the parifh, 
God help the parifh rights ; their only object is to 
divide and conquer, and to make themfelves abfo- 
lute mafters of every thing." — Neighbours, he 
wants to wring all ournofes. The fteward's right ! 

Hi 



38 

he wants to muzzle us all. Yes, my friends, when 
your parifh officers have no longer any authority, 
you are juft like an army with its retreat cut off. 
Our landlord is as cunning as the devil: you would 
not think fo to look at him ; but for all that, he's not 
the man to flir a ftep without fome advantage. If 
you knew him only half as well as I do, I heed fay 
no more : but a word to the wife, you have feen 
enough to prevent your trufting him too far. 

Bitterbeer, who was in the fleward's fecret, and 
who had received his cue, now opened. Do you 
think then, Mailer Collins, we don't fee what the 
Squire's driving at? he wants fo fell ale himfelf. 

What you've found it out, have you? — Aye, as 
fare as God's alive ; but he's miftaken. Our chil- 
dren fhail have a licenced public-houfe as we have 
had. 

Why, faid Bitterbeer, if it comes to this pafs, 
he'll be felling ale at five ihillings the pot ; and then 
©ur children will blame us. 

Nay, now you go rather too far, Bitterbeer, faid 
the ileward ; how can he raife it to five millings ? 

Why not ? faid the other ; the blackfmith and the 
'.vright have raifed their prices enough to frighten 
one ; and coals are ten times dearer than they were 
fifty years ago. What can you fay to that ? When 
once there is a monopoly, there is no faying where 
things will (lop j and if the Squire gets to felling 
ale, we ihall fee, what we (hall fee. It's already 
dear enough, confidering how bad it is. 

You're not fo far wrong, faid Collins ; we are 
oppreffed to death, and that makes every thing 
dear. 

But we will bear it no longer, roared they all : 
and now began a fcene of riot and confufion, which 
it is impoOible to defcribe. 



39 



CHAP. X. 



The Barber's dog springs the Steward's mine. 

(JUR friends were by this time pretty well 
elevated, and Grigg the fidler more than all the 
reft. He was feated next the fleward ; but fud* 
denly darting up, he infifted upou getting out ; and 
while they made room for him, he gave a reel, fell 
acrofs the table, and overturned Collin's mug, who 
fwept away the liquor with his hand, as fall as he 
could, left they fhould difcover his trick. 

The dog of the houfe (no doubt very thirfty) be- 
gan to lap the water that Avas fpilt on the floor; 
which loon took the attention of one of the 
by-ftanders, who had witnefled the wafle of what 
he thought moil excellent liquor, with extreme 
concern. Quite aftonifhed, he called out, a miracle: 
a miracle I and afked the fleward whether it was 
common for dogs to drink ale ? 

What's fo uncommon in that ? } r ou blockhead, 
faid Collins; and made him a iign to hold his 
tongue, at the fame time gently kicking him under 
the table. With the other foot, he darted a violent 
ftroke at the dog, which however took no other no- 
tice than growling a little, and lapped on. 

The fleward was quite confounded ; for by this 
time all the company were leering and looking at 
the dog. At laft the barber's wife, who was pick- 
ing up the fragments of the pitcher, fmelt at them, 
and being convinced it had contained nothing but 



40 



water, called out, u Upon my word this is a very 
dirty trick." 

By degrees the murmer became general ; and on 
every fide was repeated, "There is fome hidden 
mifchief under this :" and the barber faid aloud, 
" Steward, your fine ale was nothing but water." 

Can it be ? cried the company : what rogue's trick 
are you meditating now, Collins, that you have 
drank nothing but water ? 

The fteward, all in confufion, faid, he had not 
been very well of late, and was obliged to nurfe 
himfelf. — This excufe did not ferve, however ; the 
murmur grew louder, and they all exclaimed, 
There was fome dog's trick at the bottom of it. 

Some amongil them now found out, that the ale 
had muzzled them more than fo fmall a quantity 
mould have done. Two of the moft refpeclable 
amongft them, got up, and paying the barber his 
due, faid, God keep you, neighbours ; and went 
out. 

What, are you off in fuch a hurry, gentlemen, 
faid the fteward ; are thofe your manners ? — We've 
fomething elfe to do — And away they went. 

The barber, who followed them to the door, faid, 
he wifhed the fteward had taken his leave inftead of 
them ; he has fome deep defign, as well with his ale, 
as his water. — So we think, or we fliould not have 
been in fuch a hurry to go. — I cannot endure, faid 
the barber, this boozing in myhoufe. — Why do you 
allow of it then ? If I were you, faid one of the el- 
ders, I would turn them all out at once. — So I 
would, replied he, if I dared ! — If you dared ! what, 
I warrant you. things are not as they have been; 
and it is hard if you may'nt be mailer in your own 
houfe. — Well, faid the barber, I'll follow your ad- 
, ; Farewellj neighbours. 



41 

What whim have thofe wife acres got in their 
heads now ? faid Collins. — Whim ! replied the bar- 
ber ; why they are no better pleafed with this riot 
than I am ; and I wifh thefe drunken bouts were act- 
ed any where but in my houfe. — Well done, Maf- 
ter Barber I what you're upon your high horfe? — 
Perhaps I may, Mr. Steward ; but I like peace and 
quietnefs. 

As this difpute was likely to difturb our topers ; 
one faid, come we will make lefs noife : and ano- 
ther, we'll behave ourfelves ; trifles mould not be 
thought much of by old friends. Let's have ano- 
ther tankard, Collins, roared out Grigg. — With all 
my heart, neighbours; and I have a room at my 
houfe at your fervice, without troubling Mailer 
Barber. — A good riddance, faid the barber. 

But all this time, what becomes of our parim 
rights ? faid the elder Bitterbeer, who was a little 
rocky. — Let every honeft man follow me, faid the 
fteward, in a haughty tone ; and then in alow voice 
— " The devil take them all/' He left the room, 
clapping the door after him with fuch violence; that 
the houfe (hook again. 

What a rude fellow ! faid ,the barber. — Rude 
enough, echoed the countrymen. — There is fome 
mifchief under all this, faid young Wrangham ; I'll 
go none to the fteward's — Nor I, faid Hoikins. — 
Nor I, faith, faid Fox; I have not fo foon forgot 
what palled yefterday morning : I was clofe by Sir 
James and him, and I faw then by his looks, he was 
meditating mifchief. 

One now looked at another, as undetermined 
what to do ; but molt of them refolved to ftay away. 
There was only Bitterbeer, Grigg the ndler, and 
two others of the fame fort, who let off with the 
mugs in their hands to the alehoufe. 

During this time, Collins had placed himfelf at 
E % 





42 

a window that looked down the ftreet towards the 
barber's; and as nobody appeared for ibme time, 
he fell foul of himfelf. — I am a pretty Bitch! a 
mere dunderpoll ! Twelve o'clock has juft ftruck, 
and I am no forwarder than I was. My beer's 
gone ; I'm their dupe ; and they are laughing at me 
for a fool. I have been chattering with them like a 
baby; and have been hail fellow well met with them 
all. It might have gone down, if I had really cared 
about them or the parifh : or if I had contrived to 
make them believe fo. If I had kept my fiddles 
well in time, I could have made them dance ac- 
cording to my own fancy: but in the old Squire's 
time, I had no occaiion to keep upon terms with 
them, and cared no more about them than about the 
allies in my pipe. Ever fince I was fteward, I 
have led them all by the nofe ; and I had no better 
fport than to dupe and domineer over them as 
I liked : I hope I mall again. But I have taken the 
wrong road ; a man in my p T ace, ought not to put 
himfelf upon a level with -thefe fellows ; confuiting 
one, and fainting another, juft as if we were upon 
the fame footing. Too much familiarity breeds 
contempt. No, no, I muft keep my diftance : 
trail only fuch as I can depend upon, and confider 
all the reft as inferior animals. A fhepherd never 
takes counfel of his Hock; and yet I have been fool 
enough to do fo. 

As he concluded his reafoning, the topers arri- 
ved with the mugs. — What only you four r faidthe 
fteward ; won't thofe other fcoundrels come ? — 
Not a foul of them, faid Bitterbeer. — Why, our bu- 
fmefs is not fo very trifling, faid Collins. — Far 
from it, faid Grigg. — I fhould like to know what 
they are talking about juft now faid the fteward ; 
Griggs go back and fetch the other mugs. — They 
are all here, faid he.— -No matter, you fool : go and 



43 

rummage every where: and when, with ail your 
feeking, you have found nothing; get yourleif 
fhaved. But don't let a iyilable eicape you. If 
you bring me back any news worth hearing, I pro- 
mife to drink with you till to-morrow morning. — 
And you, Wilcock, go and find Leonard's head 
man; that Jofeph: tell him (but mind nobody fees 
you) to come to me when he leaves work at noon. 

Very well, mafter ; but a good draught of beer 
now, would not be amifs before I fet out ; it would 
make me run like a lamp-lighter, and I ffiould be 
back in the twinkling of an eye. 

The fteward ordered each of 'em a pint; and 
while the wife drew fome ale for the other two, he 
retired into the next room. 



CHAP. XI. 



Well concerted Roguery. 

O AD, and forrowful, the fteward was confider- 
ing of fome plan to concert with Jofeph when he 
came. " The fellow's a rogue I am fure, and as 
cunning as the Devil. Many a pot of beer has he 
fcored up to his mafter, that he never earned. I 
had better be open with him. He'll perhaps fuf- 
pe6fc me elfe. There's twelve o'clock 1 I will offer 
him as far as thirty millings, and if I can gain him, 
the church will be down again in lefs than a month. 
What are thirty ihillings I It's no fuch mighty 
matter." 

Juft then he faw Wilcock returning, and a little 
behind him Jofeph; for they had agreed not to 
come in together for fear of fufpicion. 



4k4 



You're welcome, Jofeph, faid the ileward, as -he 
opened the door ; does your matter know you are 
here ? — Mailer's gone to the Caille, and was not to 
be back till noon ; if I am at work again by one, he 
will know nothing of the matter. — That's well, Jo- 
feph, I want to fpeak a word to you; come into 
this back parlour, we (hall be quieter there, 

This faid, the fteward led the way; and hav- 
ing locked and bolted the door, he bid him fit down 
to table, where upon a clean cloth there was fet 
nice falt-fifh and potatoes, fome mutton chops, ale, 
and bread and cheefe. 

You may chance to lofe your dinner, fo fee if you 
can make fhift to dine upon what I have. — Aye, 
marry can I, and he fell to. — Now, mailer Steward, 
let me know what I can do to ferve you. — -All in 
good time : take a draught of ale. Here's to you, 
Jofeph : come fup it up. Will you taile this falt- 
fiih ? it mould be good. Come, man, make no ce- 
remony. I doubt whether you get any fuch with 
your mailer.— That's true enough; but times will 
mend: his Honour has given him a good job. 

Surely you are not fuch an afs as to think fo! 
If you confider a moment it cannot be. He is not 
workman enough for the job: he never was em- 
ployed in any large building, and his whole de- 
pendence is on you, Jofeph.— I can't fay nay to that; 
there may be fomethmg in it.- — I affure you, I have 
always thought fo ; and that's why I lent for you. 
You can do me a great fervice. 

You need only fay the word, Mailer Stev/ard : 
here's to you. — Much godd may it do you, my 
good lad: help yourfelf to fome of thefe chops. 
I fhould like to fee the foundation of the church 
laid of Hones out of the white quarry. 

Joseph. Odds niggs, mailer ! not for the world. 
I fee you know nothing of our bufmefs. T 



45 



ilone will never do; it's little better than chalk. 

Steward* Why, man, the flone's none fo bad ; I 
have leen it ufed an hundred times. It's a good 
{tone, Jofeph ; and I fhould be glad to fee the 
quarry opened again. 

Joseph. No, no, mafter; it will never do. 

Steward. But if you could make it ferve, it mould 
be the bed day's work you have had of one while. 

Joseph, The walls would not ftand fix years. 

Steward. What nonfenfe you talk ! have done, 
have done. 

Joseph. I'll be fworn it's very true for all that. 
There are two quickfprings clofe to the fpot, and 
feveral cowhoufes conitantly oozing out ; the chalk 
would perish directly. 

Steward. And what then ? Does it concern you 
much whether the church (lands fix y-jars, or fix 
hundred? Perhaps you think the Squire can't af- 
ford to build it up again? Only do you as I tell 
you, and you mail have as much ale as you can 
fwigg. 

Joseph. That's all very well ; but fuppofe the 
Squire mould find out, that the fione's good for 
nought. 

Steward. How fhould he know any thing about 
the matter? But that's not what I am talking about. 

Joseph. He's more knowing than folks think : 
but flill vou fhould underftand him better than 
I do. 

Steward. Aye, fure ! and I tell you, he knows 
no more about Jt than n% old fhoe. 

Joseph. I begin to think fo too. The ftone has 
a good outfide, and does very well for many things. 

Steward. Tip us your hand. Get your mafter 
to build of that flone, and you {hall have fifteen 
millings worth of ale. 

Joseph. That founds well ! I wilb I had it. 



46 



Steward, The devil take me if I jeft : if you can 
bring it about, I'll pay you in hard money upon the 
nail. 

Joseph. Done_, then, mafter; there's my hand; 
it fhall be done as you fay, and a fig for the Squire. 

Steward. One word more, Jofeph : I have by 
me a fine compofition, to make mortar bind as hard 
as iron. I have never tried it; and I would rather 
make the firft eflay any where but in a building of 
my own, becaufe thefe mountebank fellows that fell 
fuch drugs, are often rogues. 

Joseph. Well, give it to me ; I can pafs a little 
of it into fome coin of a cottage. 

Steward. A coin indeed! no, that will be no 
trial: I muft have it ufed in fome great building. 
Could'nt you mix it up witlvthe lime for the church, 
Jofeph ? 

Joseph. What? does it require a deal of this 
ftuff? 

Steward. About two pounds to a ton, I fancy. 

Joseph. Is that all ? that's a trifle. 

Steward. You'll oblige me then ? 

Joseph. I will, mailer. 

Steward, And you'll keep the fecret if it mould 
fail? 

Joseph. It will not fail, I warrant ; but you may 
be lure I (hall fay nought about it. 

Steward. You may come to me then, whenever 
you want any of the fluff ; and you may be always 
fare of a good mug of ale, over and above our bar- 
gain. 

Joseph. I'll not fail, mafter; but it has ftruck 
one, I fhall be late. 

So, toiling off his mug, he faid, "Thank ye, maf- 
ter; your fervant." — You are heartily welcome, 
my honefl lad, replied the fteward ; and remember 
fifteen {hillings. — You need not doubt me, mafter. 



47 



So faying, Jofeph fet his chair in its place, took a 
parting fwigg, and repeating, You need not doubt 
me, went away. — Since you mult go, faid the ftew- 
ard, good-bye to ye, Jofeph: remember the bar- 
gain. 

As Jofeph returned to his work, he faid to him- 
felf : " This is a ftrangefcheme of the fte ward's, with 
his flone, and his lime mixture ! One feldom tries 
experiments upon fuch high buildings as fteeples: 
but I mall get my beer; and I'll take care to get it 
beforehand too ; and then I fhall know what I am 
about." 

On the other hand the Steward faid : " Come, 
this goes as well as can be ; I have faved fifteen 
millings out of thirty, becaufe he did not know how 
to make a bargain. I feel quite happy that things 
are likely to do fo well. We mould never defpair. 
How I long to fee the wall above ground ! Patience ! 
Oh ! oh ! my good Leonard ; your wife is a moft 
notable body I but I (hall have you on the hip 
fhortly." 



CHAP. XII. 



The joys of a well-regulated Famihj. 



.LEONARD who had been very early at 
the Caftle, was already returned home. His wife 
had been buftling about, to get the faturday's work 
done, before he got back: Ihe had combed her 
children, mended their clothes, and put everything 
in order ; and without interrupting their other bu- 
f.nefs, ihe had taught them two new verfes of a 



48 



pfalm. You will iing it, (aid (he, to your father, as 
loon as he comes in. And the good children were 
delighted to learn, becaufe they thought it would 
pleafe him. 

As they went about their work, they learnt it 
without much trouble, as their mother fung it, and 
hadfoon got it perfect. 

When Leonard appeared, his wife received him 
with the greateft tendernefs, and then they all be- 
gan t o. fin g this pfalm. 

O bleffed God, ftill while I live, 

With all my voice I'll praife thy name : 
And every day new verfes give, 

To celebrate thy glorious fame. 
No joy fo great, my heart can know ; 

Perhaps e'en Thou myfong wilt hear; 
Far hence, regret, and care 3 and woe ; 

My truft's in God, I've nought to fear. 

Penetrated with delight, pure and tranquil, a 
tear dropped from Leonard's eyes, when he heard 
the united voices of his wife and children. 

God Almighty blefs you, my children, my dear 
children, and you alfo, my treafure, faid the honeft 
man with much emotion. — O my love, faid Ger- 
trude, to love peace, to do good, and be content 
with a little, is paradife upon earth. — If fuch hap- 
pinefs is ftill in {tore for me, that tranquillity of 
heart, which I think I begin to enjoy, I owe it all 
to you, rny dear Gertrude. I will be grateful to you 
till the laft moment of my exiitence ; and even when 
we are dead and gone, thefe children will remem- 
ber you with thankfulnefs. Ah ! my dear little 
ones, obey your mother in every thing, if youwim 
to be good and happy. — O Leonard, how you de- 
light me ! replied Gprtrade. — And well I may, my 



49 



love, faid he ; our landlord has been fo good to me '. 
— I thank God for it, my good hufband. — Certain- 
ly, there is not fuch another man in the worjd, wife ; 
and I was a fad baby when I was afraid of going to 
him.— Yes, my dear Leonard, experience makes us 
wife : but tell me, I pray 3*011, every thing, juft as 
it happened. 

So faying, me took her knitting, and fat down 
by him. 



CHAP. XIII. 



A proof of Leonard's kvefor his Wife. 

Leonard. \ OU fit down with your work as re- 
gularly, as you do on a funday when you take your 
bible : I fuppofe you think I have a great deal to 
tell you ? 

Gertrude. Yes, I muft have, the whole (lory. 

Leonard. Juft as if I could recollecl every cir- 
eumftance. By the bye, Gertrude, it's faturday, 
and you have not much time. 

Gertrude. Only look about you. 

She fmiled; and he faid, What! have you alrea- 
dy finifhed your faturday's work ? ■ — Father, faid 
Louifa, fhe has been hurrying herfelf to get all done ; 
and I and Jenny have helped her. Is not every 
thing as it mould be ? 

Leonard. Nothing can be better. 

Gertrude. Come then, begin your ftory. 

Leonard. Sir James went fo far as to afk me, 
what was my father's name ? what part of the vil- 

F 



50 



lage I lived in ? and even the number of my houfe. 

Gertrude. Oh ! that's not the way to tell your 
flory : I am fure he did not begin fo. 

Leonard. Why not, my deareft ? 

Gertrude. Firft, you made him a low bow; and 
he bid you, Good-day. Tell me exactly how he 
did? 

Leonard. You're a little witch ; but for all that 
you're right : I began at the wrong end. 

Gertrude. You fee now, my little hufband. 

Leonard. Well then ; the moment he faw me, 
he afked me if I had got the better of my fears ? 
I made him my bell bow and laid, I hope your ho- 
nour will forgive me. He fmiled, and ordered me 
a mug of ale. 

Gertrude. Aye, now, this is a beginning fome- 
thing like. And 1 warrant you toffed off your ale 
in a minute. 

Leonard. O no ! wife, I was as coy as a bride, 
and would not touch it. But he was not fo fatis- 
fied — " I know you have no objection to a draught 
of ale ; fo help yourfelf." — Yes, your honour, faid 
I ; and I drank a little to his health. And all the 
time he looked fo hard at me, that I thought I 
ihould have dropped the mug. 

Gertrude. O what a thing confcience is ! it was 
at your finger's ends, my friend : but you took cou- 
rage at laft. 

Leonard. Yes, and pretty foon ; he was fo cour- 
teous. Said he, a hard-working man may be al- 
lowed to like a draught of ale ; and I fee no harm 
in it: but the misfortune is, when, without mode- 
ration, he goes to the excefs of drinking away his 
tmderftanding, and not only forgets his wife and 
family j but has no thought of what is to become 
of himfelf in his old age. Such conduct is a real 
misfortune, Leonard. — You may well think this 



51 

was a thunder-ftroke upon me, wife. But I kept 
my head up pretty well, and told him, that by a fuc- 
ceflion of unlucky circnmftances, I had been by de- 
grees involved in that misfortune fo far, as not to 
know how to extricate myfelf; and God was my 
witneis, I had never during all the time, taken one 
drop of liquor that had done me good. 

Gertrude. How could you find courage to be ib 
bold ? 

Leonard. His honour was fo very gracious. 

G-ertrude. What faid he after I 

Leonard. He faid, it was the greateft misfortune 
that could happen to a poor man, that when once 
he began to go wrong, he was fure to fall into the 
company of bad fellows, whom he mould avoid as 
he would the plague. 1 could not help fighing as 
he faid this ; and I think he remarked it, for he 
faid, in a tone of voice full of pity : If one could 
but perfaade fuch unhappy men, before they learn 
it to their coil, that it is a great point gained, a fort 
of good fortune even if they mould drink more than 
they ought j if they can avoid the company of thefe 
blood-fuckers. After a little paufe, he faid, It 
makes my heart bleed when I think how many poor 
wretches are wafted by mifery and want, merely 
becaufe they have not refolution, or underilanding 
enough to make their fituation known to thofe who 
would be able, and willing to aflift them. You, 
yourfelf would have been anfwerable to God, for 
allowing yourfelf to be entangled by the fteward, 
and for having expofed your wife and children to 
hunger and beggary, for want of coming to aik ray 
advice. Think of the fituation you and your family 
would have been in, if your wife had not had more 
fenfe and refolution than you. 

Gertrude. And he faid all this before he alked 
where you lived, and the number of your houfe ? 



52 



Leonard, Are you deaf, \ou monkey? 

Gertrude, So you had a mind to keep this part 
a fecret ? 

Leonard*. I fancy I mould have done better to 
keep it a fecret flill ; you'll be lb vain of having 
had more courage than me. 

Gertrude. Think you fo, my good man? Sol 
fhall fo long as you are happier For it : but go on 
with your ilory. 

Leonard. He then catechized me about building 
the church. It was very happy for me, that I had 
not forget what I had learnt when I was young: I 
was obliged to calculate the number of yards, to an 
inch ; how many tons of lime, and how many carts 
of flone and fand. 

Gertrude. And you was not out in a cypher ? 

Leonard. No dove, as luck would have it. 

Gertrude. God be praifed. 

Lt onard. Amen, with all my heart. 

Gertrude, Then every thing is fettled ? 

Lronard. Jul! as it fhould be. Guefs what m* 

gave roe in advance : (he fhook the money in his 

pocket) Oh 1 dame, it is a long time fmce I could 

r vou with this fweet found. (She fighed.) 

ti't ugh now, my Gertrude; we'll live fparingly, 

. fave (bme money : and I hope we fhall never 

want any more, as we have done. 

Gertrude. I hope God in his mercy will help us. 

Leone Yes, arid many more befides us : only 

fcfririk, Gertrude, Sir James has fixed upon ten of 
cur pocreic cottagers with, families, to help as la- 
bourers, at twenty-pence a day. I wiih you had 
feen how carefully he made his choice ! 

Gertrude, Oh ! tell me every thing, my dear 
man. 

Leonard. I nluft recollect a bit. 

Gertrude. Aye, do try to recollect. 



Leonard. Well then, he firft got a lift of every 
poor man in the parifh who had children, how many, 
and their ages; then, what were their means of fub- 
filtence, and their relources. Then he {elected fuch 
as wanted work the molt, and who had the greateft 
number of children ; and he faid to me two or three 
times, if you know any honeft man like yourfelf, 
who is in difficulties, point him out to me. I di- 
rectly mentioned Roughwater of the hill; and now 
he will be fure of bread for a year at lead. 

Gertrude. You did well not to think of your po- 
tatoes. 

Leonard. Poor fellow ! I could not bear him ill- 
will. You know, my dear Gertrude, how very 
wretched he is : it's only two days fmce I furprifed 
young Roughwater at our potatoe heap again; but 
I took no notice: it really pitied me to fee him. 
He was the very picture of mifery and famine; 
while — bleffed be God for it, we have fo far never 
wanted a belly-full. 

Gertrude. Thou art a good foul for thinking fo; 
but theft never profpers : when once a man begins 
to ileal, he is never good for anv thing afterwards. 

Leonard. I believe that: but when one is gnaw- 
ed by hunger, and one fees meat before one ; when 
one thinks that there will be more wafted than one 
is difpofed to take ; and that it is a food of which 
even the pigs get abundance ; yon mud own it re- 
quires an uncommon degree of honefty, not to help 
onefelf. 

Gertrude. That is all very true : but a poor man 
fhould ufe every effort to avoid xheft, or he will be 
, inevitably miserable. 

Leonard. My dear life ! let us put ourf elves in 
his place i and then think who could expecl us to 
reult, 

F2 



54 



Gertrude. God could! He teaches the poor man 
his clut y, and gives him ftrength enough to fulfil it: 
it is by the trials of want, and the fufferings of his 
wretched fituadon, that he prepares him for the great 
victory over himfelf. The rich have other trials. 
Believe me, Leonard, God grants his aid to the 
poor man in fecret, and gives him ftrength to fup- 
port all his fufferings, beyond what he thinks, till 
he makes the experiment. And if he does conquer 
and bis confcience remain clear, he experiences an 
undefcribable joy, which thofe who have had no 
trials can never know. 

Leonard, I am not fo blind, my dear woman, 
but that I have feen the confidence you have placed 
in God, and your refignation to him even in our 
greateft want. But there are few who fupport their 
•rials like you ; and, 1 fear, there are a great many 
who, preffed as I have been by want and misfortune, 
have, like me, loll all courage. And that makes 
me think that the preffure of hunger is difficult to 

ft. I wiih work was more plentiful, and then 
poor men Would not have fuch temptations to go 
wrong. 

Gertrude. O my dear hufband ! you are mifta- 
ken. There is always work enough to be had. 
But there are other things neceffary to make men 
happy ; and as well with the rich as the poor, all 
content depends upon the mind. Adverfity is the 
fchoo! where content is to be learnt. Few men, 
who have never known misfortune, are good men: 
the heart mull be foftened by fufferings, to make it 
conftant, firm, patient, and wife : and experience 
teaches us, that calamities are almoifc neceffary, for 
how few men are there, who are capable of fupport- 
fftg uninterrupted good fortune ! if the mind is in- 
fluenced by tumultuous paffions, it little %nifies 



what are our circumftances, or whether we have 
work or not. There's rich old Wrangham, who has 
every thing he need trill* for, is never out of the 
public houfe : but for all that, he is not a bit hap- 
pier than the poor Neatherd, who fcarce knows 
what the comfort of a mug of ale is. 

Leonard fighed, and after a moment's filence, 
Gertrude faid ; have you been to fee whether the 
men are at their work? I muft tell you, that Jofeph 
was feen again to-day, meaking into the ale*houfe. 

Leonard. That vexes me : no doubt the fteward 
had fent for him. And his behaviour was very 
odd ; for juft before I came in, I went to fee how 
the men were going on, and he was. that moment 
come from Collins's. What he laid furprifed me ; 
and I think, could not be his own invention. 



Gertrude. What faid h 



Leonard. Why he would have it, that the chalk- 
ftone was the fitteft for building the church : and 
when I told him that the large cobbles, of which 
there are plenty, were much better, he faid I knew 
nothing about the matter, and ffoould never be any 
thing but a dunce : that a wall built of white ftone, 
would be much handfomer. At firft I fuppofed he 
faid what he really thought ; but upon reflection, it 
feemed rather odd, that without any preface, he 
fhould begin talking about the Hone : and if it is true, 
that he has juft been with the fteward, there is cer- 
tainly a fnake under the grafs. The white ftoneis 
ibft and perifhable, and is good for nothing for our 
work. If this fliould be a inare now, that Collins 
has fet for me ! 

Gertrude* At all events, Jofeph is a man not to 
be trufted : fo be upon your guard. 

Leonard. Oh ! never fear I befides Sir James has 
particularly ordered me not to ufe white ftone. 

Gertrude. And why? 



56 



Leonard. He faid, that as there were qwick- 
fprings and cowhoufes conflantly lipping wet, very 
near the foundation ; there would be great danger 
of the foft Hone perifhing and giving way. 

Gertrude. Indeed ! 

Leonard. Nothing more fure : and I remember 
once working at a building a good way from hence, 
where fuch flone was employed : and we were obli- 
ged to renew the foundation, aim oft immediately. 

Gertrude. I wonder how he came to know any 
thing about it. 

Leonard. I was furprifed myfelf ; but he knows 
all about it. He afked me where the beft fand was 
to be had : and I mentioned the fand-bed, at the 
bottom of the hill near the mill. But he faid, it 
was a long way to lead, and all up hill; we mull 
fpare both our men and our horfes, as much as' we 
can. Is there no other fand? — I told him there 
was a very fine bed of fand a little above the church : 
but as the ground was private property, we mould 
have to pay for the hole we made, as well as for the 
road to fetch it by. — Never mind, he faid; that 
will be better than leading it fo far. — But I mult 
tell you another thing : while we were talking about 
the fand, a fervant came and faid, one of the neigh- 
bouring gentlemen was come to wait upon him : fo 
I thought it right to fay, I would not detain him 
any longer, but would call again another day. — No,, 
my good friend, faid he, fmiling ; I like to put an 
end to an affair, and it is only when I am quite at 
leifure that I pay attention to thefe vifits. You 
reckoned without your hoft, when you thought ycu 
would efcape : that is rather too much in the old 
ftyle of diforder, which I hope is now at an end ; 
when you were ready to quit your work, and the 
moft effenfcial bufmefs on every fool's errand. 



57 

Wife, I was quite dumb founded, and fcratched 
my head like a fool. I had better have bitten a 
piece of my tongue off, than have talked of calling 
another day. 

Gertrude. You deferred a little rebuke. 

As (he faid thefe words, they heard /omebocly 
calling before the door, hallo, hallo ! Is nobody at 
home? 



CHAP. XIV. 



An interested Visit. 



.LEONARD opened the door. Dame Cackle- 
thorp, a notorious goffip, the churchwarden's fon's 
wife; and daughter to the Reward's deoeafed bro- 
ther, courtefied to them both as fhe entered, and 
faid in a low voice, I fuppofe you'll hardly conde- 
fcend to do a little job for a neighbour now ! 

Why not, neighbour ? is there any thing atprefcnt 
I can do for you ? 

No, nothing ; I'd only a mind to know, in cafe 
of accident. 

You are very provident, dame Cacklethorp ; is 
there any fuch great fear that I ihould deny you ? 

I don't know ; times change, and fo do tempers. 

That may be ; but you can never want a hand, 
that can fet an oven. 

Gertrude, who liftened, without faying a word ; 
fet about cutting fome dices of rye bread for 
the porridge. 



58 



That is but coarfe bread, faid Cacklethorp ; but 
it will foon mend its colour, now that your good 
man is become Mr. Mafon of the Caftle. 

How you talk, neighbour! I mall be very well 
contented if I fhould never have any worfe. 

White bread is better though, faid the goJEp, and 
you can never want it. You'll be a fine lady ibme 
day, and your hufband Mr. Steward ; and perhaps 
we poor folks (hall fare the worfe for that. 

Leonard. What's the meaning of thefe fneers ? 
I hate people to talk by halves ; truth and plain 
dealing for my money. 

Cacklethorp. Well then, I'll fpeak out, if you like 
it better. My hufband is the churchwarden's fun, 
and I . fancy ever fmce there was a church at 
all. there is no inftance of thofe immediately 
belonging to it, being left out of employ, when 
there was any thing to do about it. 

Leonard What more ? 

Cacklethorp. What more ? Why the fteward has 
got a lift of twelve of the molt beggarly fellows in 
the village to be employed as labourers, and 
amongft them there is not one, that properly 
belongs to the church. 

Leonard. But, neighbour, what is that to me? 
Did I make the lift r 

Cacklethorp. You might not write it perhaps; 
but you advifed it, I fancy. 

Leonard. That's a good joke ! I fhould like 
to fee myfelf advifmg'Sir James. 

Cacklethorp. Come, come, we know very well 
you have been often fneaking to the Caftle lately ; 
you were there no longer ago than this very morn- 
ing. If only you had reprefented things as 
they ufed to be, we fhould have had no change. 

Leonard. You've got upon a wrong fcent, Mrs. 
Cacklethorp, I adore you: our landlord is not 



59 



a man to go on in the old beaten track, when 
he thinks a new road will do better. 

Cacklethorp. So it feems. 

Leonard. And moreover he wifhed to give 
employment to thofe who flood mod in need of it. 

Cacklethorp That is to fay, he has a mind 
to make friends amongft beggars and rafcallions. 

Leonard. Every poor man is not a rogue, Mrs, 
Cackle : you ought to be afhamed of yourfelf. 
Nobody knows what may be his own lot, as long as 
he lives. 

Cacklethorp. I know that ; and that's what vexes 
me : one does not like to be neglecled. 

Leonard. That's another affair ; but recollect 
that you have a nice bit of land ; that you are 
boarded at your father's table ; that your hufband 
earns more than any other man in the parifh ; and 
that you never need be uneafy about your daily 
bread. 

Cacklethorp. Very pretty talking ; but it makes 
one's heart ache, to know one's right, and fee 
a dog come and run away with it. 

Leonard. For ihame, Cackle : to talk of dogs, 
when you mean honeft folks. Take care ; you may 
chance to find one that can bite a little. But after 
all, if you think you are put upon ; you walk 
well, and you can talk well ; why don't you go, and 
make your complaint, where you can have redrefs? 

Cacklethorp. I thank you kindly for your advice. 
Mr. Mafon. 

Leonard. Faith, I can give you no better. 

Cacklethorp. I may find a time perhaps to 
be even with you: fo your fervant Leonard. 

Leonard. Farewell, dame Cacklethorp : is there 
any thing elfe I can do to ferve you ? 

This faid, fhe went away, and Leonard joined 
his workmen. 



60 



CHAP. XV. 



Too much obscurity ; the Steward gets well off. 

LEONARD had fcarce left the Caflle, before Sir 
James fent his gamekeeper Nimble, with the lift of 
the labourers to the fleward, charging him to give 
tljem notice. The lift was delivered the fame day; 
but in (lead of being directed as ufual, " To the 
worthy and difcreet Mr. Collins, the Steward; 
this was limply addreffed to " Collins the Steward 
at Fmeihade." 

What has this rafcally qiiill driver of a fecretary 
been about? faid Collins, as he read the direction. 
I'll teach him how to direct to me in this manner. 

Speak with a little more caution, faid the game- 
keeper: his honour wrote the addrefs himfelf. — 
I know better, replied the fleward ; this is the 
hand of that little fneaking fecretary.- — You'll get 
yourfelf into a lcrape, Mafter Collins, faid Nim- 
ble ; I was clofe by his honour, and I faw him write 
the direction with his own hand. — I am confound- 
edly miftaken then, Nimble, anfwered the fleward : 
the word flipped off my tongue. But take no 
notice : come in and drink a draught of ale. — You 
had better be a little more cautious another time : 
I am no mifchief-maker, or elfe I could make you 
repent it. So faying, he followed the fleward 
into the houfe, took a good fwigg, and went his 
way. 

The fleward then opened his note, and having 
read the lift, he exclaimed; Did ever man fee 






61 

fuch a fet of raggamufiiuns I may I die but I'm ftu- 
pefied; not one of my fellows amongft them except 
Michael Naggs. No chance now of overcharging 
him a fingle day's work ; and what's almoft as bad, 
I mull go and give thefe fellows notice: but there's 
no help for it now. I may however put a fpoke in 
the wheel: I'll go inftantly and give them notice, 
and tell them to go on monday morning to the 
Cattle, to thank his honour. He knows none 
of thefe fellows ; and when they appear before him, 
all rags ; one without fhoes, another without a hat ; 
I fhall wonder if he does not make a choice that 
will fuit me a little better. 

While thefe thoughts paffed in his mind ; he 
dreffed himfelf, and caft an eye upon the lift, to lee 
how he could make his round by the fhorteft road. 
He determined to go firft to Roughwater of the 
hill, although he was not the neareft. But he had 
long avoided to go near him : ever fmce he had by 
a piece of roguery cheated the father of his clofe, 
the mifery of the fon flung his conscience. 

Let me get quit of this wretch iirft, faid he ; and 
he was foon ftanding before the window. 



CHAP. XVI. 



Peace ! For in this house a Soul is passing to 
Eternity ! 

J UST at this time Roughwater of the hill was 
furrounded by his four children. He had loft his 
wife about three months before: and now his 
G 



62 



mother, extended upon a mattrefs, was at the 
point of death. 

She had been begging her fon to gather a few 
dry leaves, to thicken the quilt ; for file was quite 
cold. 

Roughwater. I will go, mother, when thefe 
Ilicks are burnt. 

Mother. Have you then any wood left ? I thought 
it had been all gone ; for I knew you could not 
leave me and the children, to go and cut any. O 
my dear fon, I am fadly in your way. 

Roughwater. Nay, dear mother, do not fay fo ; 
you're not in my way ; you wring my heart. Oh 1 
gracious heaven ! that I could but fupply you with 
what is neceffary. You fuffer hunger and thirfl 
without complaining : it kills me to fee you. 

Mother. Be eafy, my child : my fufferings, thanks 
be to God ! are fupportable. That good God will 
releafe me foon ; and my laft bleffing (hall bring 
down a reward for all your kindnefs to me. 

Roughwater* O mother ! I never felt the excefs 
of want fo feverely as at this moment. I can give " 
you no food ; I can do nothing for you : alas ! your 
end is haftened for want of nouriihment. 

Mother. So near death as I am, one wants but 
littlr, my fon ; and that little our Heavenly Father 
bellows. I blefs his mercy that he gives me ftrength 
to fupport my lalt moments. 

Rougiiwuter. Do you think then there is no 
hope, mother ? (He wept). 

Mother. No, my good fon, certainly not ; I feel 
I am going. 

Rovglnvater. Heaven have mercy on me 1 

Mother. Be comforted, Roughwater: (he fobbed 
.ajoud) I am going to a better place. You were my | 
joy in your infancy, my confolation in my old age ; 
and now, I thank God 1 you will clofe my eyes. I am 






63 

going to my Creator : I will pray for a ble (Ting 
on you : and you fhall profper for the time to come : 
Keep me in your mind, my child : every fufTering, 
when it is palled, contributes to our happineis. I 
derive conibl ution from my pail forrows, and I 
think of them with not lefs pleafure, than the 
bleilings I have enjoyed. I thank a merciful Provi- 
dence, for the profperity of my early life, that 
happy time ! that fpring of our days ! which prepares 
the fruits that autumn mull bring forth: then comes 
the penury of winter. Then, deprived of every 
leaf, the tree prefents the image of death ! and 
to that man who fees its approach without fear, the 
misfortunes of life ailume an appearance of import- 
ance, while all human felicity is forgotten like 
a dream. Think of thy mother, my fon ; and thou 
(halt be happy in fpite of thy prefent mifery. 

Roughzuater. O my mother! my dear parent! 
my tender friend! 

Mother. Attend to me, my fon : I have had ever 
fmce yefterday a weight upon my mind, which 
I muft fhake off. 

Roughwater. Alas! what is it, mother? 

Mother. Yefterday I law your John hide himfelf 
behind my btd, and eat feme roafled potatoes, 
which he had in his pocket. He gave fome to 
the other children, who alio eat them in fecret. 
Roughwater ! thole potatoes could not be ours ; for 
if they mid, the child would have thrown them upon 
the table, and boldly have invited every body 
to partake of them. Nay, he would have brought 
me one, as he has done an hundred and a hundred 
times before now. How has my heart been touched, 
when he has come {kipping along with both hands 
full, and with a heart as open as his face, he 
has faid, " You mult eat fome too, grandmother.'' 
Oh ! Roughwater! if that dear child Ihould turn out 



64 

a thief! This thought has diftrac"led me ever lince 
yefterday. Where is he ? call him, that I may fpeak 
to him. 

Rough-water, How unhappy I am ! 

He haftened out to look for the child, aud brought 
him to his mother's bed-fide. 

With the greateft difficulty fhe raifed herfelf fo 
as to fit upright, and turning towards the boy, 
(lie clafped her feeble arms round him, and refted 
her head upon his moulder. 

John, all in tears, aiked what was her pleafure? 
You won't die then, grandmother? pray, grandmo- 
ther, don't die. 

Yes, my child, (he faid, in a broken voice, I muft 
die, and very foon. 

Oh \ dear 1 no, pray don't. 

Her breath failed the good old woman, and fhe 
fell back in her bed. 

The father and fon burft into tears. — She foon 
recovered enough to fay, I am better now that I am 
laid down. — : And the boy cried out, then you'll not 
die, grandmother ? 

Moth.er. Don't diftrefs yourfelf, my good child; 
I die inoft willingly : I am in hopes foon to meet a 
good and tender father. If you knew, my Johnny, 
how I rejoice to think I (hall foon be with him, you 
would not cry fo. 

John, I'll go with you, grandmother, if you die. 

Mother. No, my love, you muft not die now, 
unlefs it be God's pleafure j you muft live many 
years, and be a good honeft man ; and when your 
father grows old and infirm, you muft fupport and 
comfort him. Won't you Johnny? won't you obey 
him in all things, and make a good man. Promife 
me that you will, my good child? 

John. Yes, grandmother; I will be very good 
dutiful to my father. 



65 

Mother. Johnny, our Father which is in heaven, 
and before whom I fh all. very icon be, fees, and 
knows everv thing that we do and promife here be- 
low. Tell me, my child, don't you believe he does' 

John. Yes, I do believe he does. 

Mother* How comes it then, that you ate again 
yeilerday in fecret, behind my bed, potatoes that 
you had ftolen? 

(John, falling upon his knees), O pardon me, 
grandmother, and I promife never to do fo again, 
as long as I live. 

Mother. You did fteal them then. 

(John fobbing), Y s. 

Mother. Where did you get them? 

John. From the m — as — on's. 

Mother. You muft go to him then, and afk his 
pardon. 

John, Oh 1 no, no ; pray, grandmother, indeed 
I dare not. 

Mother. You muft indeed, my child ; in order 
that you may remember it, and never do fo any 
more. Make no reply, but go directive and I 
charge you, if you are ever fo hungry, never take 
the fmalleft thing that belongs to another peribn. 
God never forfakes the pooreft of his creatures , and 
will reward you in proportion to your fufterings. 
My dear Johnnv, though you fhouid be perifliing 
with hunger, and fhouid not know where to get 
a morfel to eat, truit in God; but on no ac- 
count fteal. 

John. No, indeed, grandmother, I never will 
again, though I mould be ftarved to death. 

Mother. Well then, God biefs you, and protect 

you from all evil ! So faying, the preffed him to her 

heart, and bathed him with her tears. Then added, 

now get vou away to the mafon, and beg his pardon ; 

G 2 



66 

Rough water, do you go with him ; and tell the 
mafon, that almoft with my laft breath I afk his 
forgivenefs, and am forry I cannot make him any 
other amends: Tell him, I will pray to God to 
blefs them all, and to make the little they poffefs to 
profper. I pity them with all my heart: they 
are hard fet to live • and if it was not for that good 
Gertrude, who almoft flaves herfelf to death, they 
could never bring up their family. My dear fon ! I 
am fure you will give them a couple of days work, 
to make them amends. 

That I will with all my heart, my good mother. 

Juft as he faicl this, the fteward appeared, 
and tapped at the window. 



CHAP. XVII. 



The noble effort of an expiring Woman. 

1. HE fick perfon knew Collins by his man- 
ntr of coughing and fpitting. 

Heavens! faid fhe, it is the fteward ! He is cer- 
tainly come to be paid for the laft broth you were 
Co good as to give me. 

Roughwater. 1 befeech you, mother, don't be 
uneafy ; I will pay him in days works, and I will 
help him as much as he can wifh, in harveft. 

Mother. Alas ! I am afraid he will not wait. 

(Roughwater went to the door to fpeak to the 
fteward, and the poor woman faid to herfelf with a 
figh) Ever linee our unhappy lawfuit (God forgive 
him, poor miftaken man!) I have never been able 



67 



to look at him, without a fecr et honor. I am ferry 
he mould come and difturb my dying thoughts, by 
the found of his well-known cough. But perhaps 
the Almighty wills it, to enable me, by giving him 
an unqualified pardon, to diveft my mind of all re- 
fentment, and even to pray for him at this awful 
moment. Then, gracious God ! if, as I think, thou 
didft permit him to gain an unrightful caufe, I be- 
feech thee pardon him. 

Juft at this moment the fteward railed his voice 
fo loud, that (lie heard him. 

O gracious ! he is angry with my poor fon ; and 
perhaps, all on my account. 

Collins fpeaking ft ill louder, (he fainted away. 
John ran to call his father, and being extremely 
frightened, he cried out, Father, make hafte and 
come, for I verily believe poor grandmother is quite 
dead. 

The father excufed himfelf to the fteward and 
hurried into the houfe, while Collins muttered : 
" It is of great importance, truly, that the old witch 
is dead at laft." 

She, however, foon came to herfelf, and as fha 
opened her eyes, ihe faid, He was angry, my fon ; 
he won't have patience then? 

Roughwater. It was not fo, mother; he brought 
good news : but are you better ? 

Yes, me faid, with a look of doubt ; but I am 
afraid that man could have nothing good to tell you. 
You think to make me eafier by concealing your 
own forrows ; but I heard him threaten you, 

Roughxvater. No, indeed, mother, no ; he came 
to tell me I was appointed one of the labourers to 
work at rebuilding the church, and that I was to 
have twenty-pence a-day. 

Mother, God be praifed for it ! but is it really 
true ? 



68 



Roughivater. Every word is true ; and there if^ 
work for more than a twelvemonth. 

Mother, Then I die, almoft without a pang. 
Merciful God I how great is thy loving-kindnefs ! 
continue it, I pray thee, towards him and his. And, 
Oh ! my dear fon, trufl fledfafUy in him, and never 
forget that 

If with true reverence and fear you pray, 
God's blefled help is never long away. 

She was filent a moment, and then faid : 1 think 
I have not much longer to laft ; my breath grows 
every minute fhorter and fhorter. We muft part, 
my fon : come and receive my laft bleffing. 

At thefe words, Roughwater, who trembled from 
head to foot, fell on his knees by the bedfide, and 
with his hands clafped, and his uplifted eyes ftream- 
ing with tears, he remained fpeechlefs. 

Take courage, my dear fon, faid his worthy mo- 
ther; and think of that happier world, where we 
fhall meet again, never to part. The pang of death 
will lafl but an inftant. " For I know that my Re- 
u deemer liveth, and that he fhall ftand at the latter 
" day upon the earth ; And though after my fkin, 
" worms deftroy this body, yet in my flefh fhall I 
" fee God : Whom 1 fhall fee for myfelf, and mine 
" eyes fhall behold, and not another j though my 
" reins be confumed within me." 

Roughwater, having a little recovered himfelf, 
befought his mother to blefs him. " If it were 
God's pleafure, I would be content to die with you, 
my blefied parent." 

The good old woman, raifmgher eyes to heaven, 
pronounced thefe words. 

" Hear my prayer ! O eternal Father ! and blefs 

my child ; the dear, and only one thou ever 



a 



69 



w gaveft me : and whom 1 have loved as my own 
foul. — My fon, may God, and our Saviour, ac- 
u company you in all your fteps : and as he blefied 
Ifaac and Jacob for the love of their father Abra- 
" ham ; may he lhower down blefnngs upon you ac- 
% cording to my prayer, and confirm my benedic- 
tion ; fo that you may profper in all you undertake, 
" enjoy his goodnefs, and glorify his holy name." 
Attend, now, my fon, to what I think will be my 
aft words. Bring up your children to well regulat- 
ed induftry ; that if it fhould be their lot to be poor, 
they may flili have courage, and perfevere in 
the right way. Teach them to place their whole 
truft and confidence in God; to be 10 united 
in love one to another, that whether their lot 
he good or bad, they may participate in it. Pardon 
Collins with all your heart; and as foon as I 
am dead and buried, go and tell him, that in my laft 
moments, I bore him no ill-will; but that if my 
prayers are heard, he will be happy, and will have 
time to know himfelf, and repent before he is 
called away. 

Here fhe paufed a moment, and then faid : My 
fon, give me my two bibles, my t prayer-book, and 
a paper you will find in a little box under my neck 
handkerchief. 

Having got them, fhe defired the children might 
be called. They came all in tears, and knelt round 
their grandmother's bed. 

Mother. Dry your eyes, mv darlings ! Your Fa- 
ther which is in heaven will blefs you, and prolong 
your lives. You are as dear to me as my heart's 
blood ; and it grieves me to leave you in inch dif- 
trefs. But truft in God, in every occurrence of 
your lives ; and he will befriend you more than is 
in the power of any earthly father or mother. Think 
fometimcs of me, mv dear children: it is true I 



70 



have nothing to leave vou ; but I have ever loved 
you tenderly, and I think I have had your love. 
Thefe two bibles, and this prayer-book, are almoft 
all I poflefs in the world : but do not coniider them 
as of little importance. Thoufands of times in my 
forrows, and my misfortunes, they have been to me 
a comfort and fupport. Let the word of God be 
your confolation and delight : let your lives be paf- 
fed in acts of kindnefs one towards another : be 
fincere, faithful, courteous, and obliging to every 
body ; and you will live happy and contented. 
Roughwater, keep the large bible for Barbara ; and 
the fmaller one for John. Let the two younger 
ones draw lots for my prayer-book. Alas ! my ion, 
I have no token of remembrance for you; but 1 
think it is not wanted : you will never forget me. 
Johnny, come here ; give me your hand, and pro- 
mife me once more, never to take what belongs to 
another. 

John. No, indeed, grandmother ! pray believe 
me ; I never will Ileal any thing again, from any 
body. (He fobbed aloud.) 

Mother. Yes, I will bdieve you ; and I will 
pray God to ftrengthen your good refolutions. 
Look, my children, I put into your father's hands 
a paper, which was given me by a clergyman with 
whom I lived in ft rvice. When you are old 
enough, read it ; think o* me, be good and happy. 

The paper in queftion was a certificate from a 
clergyman in the neighbourhood, teftifying: That 
the within-named Catherine, had lived with him 
ten years; and had, after the death of his wife, 
brought up his family, of which (he had almoft the 
fole direction. That me had acquitted herfelf with 
as much care and good management, as his deceafed 
wife could have done. For thefe fervices, he gives 
her his uncere thanks : he confiders her almoft as a 






71 



mother to his children ; and he will never, while 
he lives forget, her good and faithful fervices. 
During the ten years ihe had faved a decent fum, 
which ihe gave her huiband on her marriage ; with 
which Ihe had bought the clofe, that the fteward 
had cheated them of. 

When Ihe had given the paper to her fon, Ihe 
faid : I have ftill two good fhifts ; don't ufe either 
of them for my funeral ; I have referved an old one 
on purpofe. You muft make ufe of my petticoat 
and my two aprons, for the children, as foon as I 
am dead. 

A Utile afterwards, ihe faid : Roughwater, pray 
take parti ular care of Barbara's health ; the poor 
child is fiul of humours. Endeavor to keep them 
all clean and neat, and make them drink a decoc- 
tion of dandelion and elderflowers every year, to 
purify the blood. If you can, keep a fhe-goat for 
them in fummer ; Barbara is big enough to tend it. 
I am forry to leave you fo defolace , but keep a good 
heart, and do whatever you can : the building of 
the church will be a main help to you. May the 
Almighty protect you ! 

She was filent. — The father and the children re- 
mained fome time longer upon their knees, repeat- 
ing all the prayers they could fay by heart. Then 
Roughwater getting up, faid : he would now go and 
fetch fome leaves, to fluff the quilt. But his mo- 
ther faid the room was become warmer, and that 
he had better go with John, to afk the mafon's 
pardon. 

Roughwater beckoned to Barbara, as he went 
out, and charged her to keep a good watch over 
her grandmother. If any thing new happens, fend 
Fanny to me ; (he will find me at Leonard's. 



CHAP. XVIII. 



Pardon is obtained for the theft; and Death finishes 

his work. 



RoUGHWATER took his fon by the 
hand ; and away they went. There was only Ger- 
trude at home ; who faw them as they approached 
the houfe : and fhe perceived the father had tears 
in his eyes. 

Gertrude. What's the matter, neighbour Rough- 
water ? Why thofe tears ? And Johnny crying too 1 
Tell me what ails you. 

Rough-water. Ah ! Gertrude, I am very unhap- 
py on many accounts ; but I am come now to aik 
your pardon, becaufe this little boy has been fteal- 
ing fome of your potatoes again. His grandmother 
faw him eating them yefterday, and he has owned 
it : fo if you can, pray forgive him 1 My good mo- 
ther is at the point of death 1 Alas! fhe has juft 
been taking leave of us: lam weighed down by 
mifery and forrow. She too hopes you'll forgive 
her, Gertrude : and I will make you amends as 
foon as it is in my power. I will give you two days 
works whenever you chufe. Pray, forgive us ; the 
poor child was almoft ftarved to death. 

Gertrude. Oh ! Roughwater 1 pray fay no more ! 
Come here, my dear John; kifs me, and promife 
me never to Ileal any thing again. No boy had ever 
abetter grandmother : endeavour to be as good and 
as honeft as fhe has been. 






r l 



4 0» 



John. O pray forgive nte, Mrs. Gertrude. J 
never will fteal again; indeed I never will. — He 
dropped upon his knees, and fobbed. 

Gcrlrudc. That's my good child ; I do forgive 
you; never do lb again You are too young to 
know, how wretched it will make you if you do. 
Whenever you are hungry, come to me ; and 
if I have any thing to give you, you mail have 
it with all my heart. 

Rouglm-ater. I thank heaven! I am going to 
have work : and I hope the poor child will never be 
driven by want, to do (b any more. 

Gertrude. It made both my huiband and me 
very happy, that Sir James thought of you. 

Roughtvater. It made me the more happy, be- 
caufe my good mother has had this confoiation be- 
fore Die died. Tell Leonard, I will never flight 
my work, morning nor night; that I will do as 
much as ever I can ; and that, for all your goodneis, 
I am determined he lhall pa)' himfelf for the pota- 
toes out of my wages. 

Gertrude. Pray, Roughwater, fay no more 
about them : I am fure my huiband will never 
confent. Thank God ! we are ourfelves lefs pinch- 
ed than we were, fine -2 iinis job fell out. You fay, 
your mother's fo very bad, I mult go and fee 
her dire clly. 

So faying, and having flipped fome dried fruit 
into John's pocket, and again charged him never to 
Ileal any thing; they went out together. 

On the road, Roughwater gathered Tome dry 
leaves under a walnut tree ; Gertrude helped him: 
and they battened to the fick woman's room. — 
Gertrude took her hand, killed her, and burft into 
tears. 

Mother. You weep, Gertrude: I have moO: 
caufe ; have you forgiven me ? 
H 



74 



Gertrude, Oh! don't talk of forgivenefs, dear 
Catherine. Your fufferings affect me ; but {till 
more the goodnefs of your heart, and your pious 
care. But your goodnefs will not be without 
its reward: God will certainly blefs thefe children 
for your fake, excellent woman ! 

Mother. But have you forgiven us, indeed. 

Gertrude. Pray, Catherine, have done ; what 
would I not give, to be able to do you any fervice ? 

Mother. You were always good, Gertrude ; 
heaven reward you 1 I fhail foon know the end of 
all my fufferings. Come here, my dear John ; did 
you afk her pardon ? and did me grant it you ? 

John. Yes, grandmother, {he is fo good ; fee how 
fhe has fluffed my pockets ! 

I grow very faint, faid Catherine. You're fure 
you afked her pardon heartily ? 

John. Yes, indeed, with all my heart. 

Mother. This faintnefs grows upon me, and my 

eyes fail. I ha— ve no 1 ma ny minutes 

to live. Gertrude, I have a laft requeft to make 

you — may I ? but this unhappy child has robbed 

you.-— yet if I dared Gertrude, when I am 

dead as foon I mall be thefe poor chil- 
dren fo forlorn no mother (She 

drew her hand from under the quilt, her eyes 

clofed, and reached it towards her) — may I 

may I hope obey her Joh— -(She 

expired.) 

Roughwater thought fhe had fainted ; and charg- 
ed the children not to make the leaftnoife : perhaps 
faid he fhe fleeps. Oh ! if it might pleafe God to 
reftore her. — But Gertrude faw it was all over, and 
told him fo. 

At this information, it is impofflble to defcri 
the defolation of the family. 



75 



Reader, I flop, that we ma)' together (bed tears 
of companion upon the lot of man ; who, amidft the 
dull of the earth, prepares for eternal life I while 
others, perhaps, bleffed with every luxury that the 
heart can defire, periih amidft pomp and (how, and 
fall without giving a hope of falvation! 

Weigh well, O man, the real value of life, as thou 
fitted by thy expiring brother. — And thou ! who 
holdeft the poor in contempt, or who beftoweft on 
them thy miftaken pity : tell me, if he who dies in 
the manner we have juft witneffed, could be called 
unhappy in any ft ate of life ? 

But I have done : I prefume not to teach yen : 
but I could wiih, that you would of your own 
accord, open your eyes, and looking around you 
difcover, in what good and ill, true profperity and 
adverfity confrft in this world. 

Gertrude confoled the mourning Roughwater as 
well 'as fhe could : (he repeated his worthy mother's 
lait wiih, which he had been too much abforbed in 
grief to attend to. 

Rocighwater took her hand, and (lied tears upon 
it. O what a lofs, laid he, have I iuftainecl 1 never 
man had fuch a parent! but, Gertrude, mall (lie 
have prayed in vain ? 

Gertrude. Mine mud be indeed a hard heart 
if fhe could. No, my good neighbour, I will do 
every thing in my power to fupply the place of a 
mother to your children. 

Rouglrwatcr. God in his mercy blefs you\ Ger- 
trude. 

Gertrude turned towards the window to hide her 
tears. She fighed, and taking the children one by 
one in her arms, fhe killed and wept over them. 
Then having fettled every thing as well as fhe could 
for the funeral, fhe returned to her own cottage: 



76 



CHAP. XIX. 



Good Spirits are precious in Adversity : Despondency 
is good for nothing. 



T ROM Roughwater's houfe, where he cal- 
led the firft ; the fleward went to Jeremy Benfon's. 
He found him fplittinglogs, by his wood heap, ting- 
ing and whittling. He no fooner faw the fteward, 
than opening wide his eyes, he called out, "If you 
are coming for money, Mr. Collins, you may ftay 
away; I have not got a fmgle farthing." 

Collins. Why you are finging like a lark, in a 
funny morning: you furely can't want money. 

Benson. If crying would fill my belly, I would 
iing no more : but pray now what is your bufmefs? 

Collins. Only to tell you that you are to be em- 
p'oyed as labourer at the church, and to have twen- 
t*>penc,e a-day. 

Benson. Oh \ Collins, you are banteringme I 

Collins. No, indeed, I am ferious ; and you muft 
go on monday morning to the Caille, to thank Sir 
James. 

Benson. If, indeed you are in earneft, a thoufand 
thanis to you, Mr. Steward; and it was not for 
nothing, that my heart was fo light when I faw you 
coming. 

Collins finiled, and left him, faying, " In all my 
Wfe I have never known fo much content as this 
fellow enjoys, without a rag to his a back." 



Renfon fan into the houfe to his wife. — " Hallo '. 
courage for ever I God is always good, wife. I 
am to work at the church. 

Wife. A likely tale i a good deal of water will 
run under the bridge before that happens. You 
have always full hopes, and an empty belly. 

Benson. I mail not want bread, when I get my 
wages. 

Wife. But where are the wages to come from ? 

Benson. Our f quire is a good pay-mailer: the 
money is fafe enough. 

Wife. Are you joking now; or are you really 
going to have work ? 

Benson. The ft e ward is this moment gone : he 
came to tell me to go on monday morning with the 
other men who are to be employed, to thank his 
honour for his goodnefs : fo you fee it cannot fail. 

Wife. If this is true, I'll thank God on my knees, 
that he is pleafed to let me have a profpecl of com- 
fort before I die. 

Benson. I promife you, you mall have a bulhel 
of comfort; I am as lively as a bird. Now never 
look crofs again when I come fkipping into the 
houfe ; for I promife you, the moment I receive 
my wages, I will bring them to' you, every farthing, 
I fhould never be happy, if I did not think the time 
would yet come, that I mail hear you fay : " Well, 
mine's a good man after ail." If your little nest-egg 
is almoft walled in my unlucky hands ; dont lay all 
the blame to me, and with God's help, you (hall 
never want again. 

Wife. Your good-humour keeps up my fpirits ; 
but I am always afraid you are but a rattle-cap. 

Benson. Can you fay that I ever neglect my work , 
or fquander my money fooiiihly ? 

Wife, I can't fay you do ; but then you never 
II 2 



78 



care a farthing when we have nothing to eat in the 
houfe. 

Benson. Would crying make bread ? 

Wife. For my part, I'm of a different fort ; and 
my fpirits fail with my means. 

Benson. Pluck up courage, wife ! never defpair: 
and I'll warrant things {hall go better than they 
have done. 

Wife. But what will you do for a coat, to go to 
the Caftle in ? 

Benson. Never mind ; I'll go in this ragged as it 
is : you are always fo full of care ! 

So faying, he returned to his logs ; and worked 
away till fun-fet. 

In the mean time, the fleward went on to Hof- 
kins's, who was out ; but he found his neighbour 
Herald, and defired he would tell him. He then 
went on to John Martindale's. 



CHAP. XX. 



Foolish Curiosity leads to Want, 



T 



HIS man was fitting before, his door, 
watching the paffers by ; and the moment he faw 
the fteward, though Hill at fome diftance, he faid to 
hhnfelf, " This is fomething new." Then bawling 
as loud as he could, he faid, "Which way now, 
Mr. Steward ? I feldom fee you in my neighbour- 
hood I" 

Steward. But now you are going to fee me at 
your houfe, Martindale. 



a 



79 



Martindale. I did not expecl fo great an honour. 

ut tell me, Collins, how goes the mafon's wife ? 
is her tongue as glib as it was two days ago in the 
church-yard 1 She's a very witch ; isn't me, Col- 
lins ? 

Steward. Take care how you talk : you are one 
of her hufband's labourers. 

Martindale. Have you no other news for me, 
but fuch nonfenfe as that ? 

Stexvard. Nonfenfe or not, I come here by Sir 
James's orders to give you notice. 

Martindale. But how came this windfall to me? 

Stexvard. I fancy it came while you were afteep. 

Martindale. I mall be awake enough if it is true: 
however, at what time muft I go to work? 

Stexvard. I mould almoft think in the morning. 

Martindale. Indeed 1 and leave work at night 
perhaps ? How many are there of us, Mr. Steward ? 

Stexvard. Ten of you. 

Martindale. I mould like to know who they are : 
pray tell me, 

Collins mentioned their names ; and after every 
name, the other repeated half a dozen others. — 
" And is not fo — -and fo, one ?" And thus he went 
on, till the fteward quite tired, faid, " I can flay no 
longer, Farewell." 



CHAP. XXI. 



Envy and Ingratitude, 

U PON quitting Martindale, the fteward 
went to Gabriel Grindftone ; whom he found 



80 



ftretched his whole length upon a bench by the fire, 
fmoaking his pipe ; his five children lilting round 
it, almoft naked ; and his wife fpinning at a little 
diftance. 

The Reward in two words, told him his errand; 
and Grindftone, taking his pipe out of his mouth, 
faid: " This is the firft good luck I ever had in my 
life." 

Steward. There are others in the lift, who have 
not ufually better fortune than you, Grindftone 

Grindstone. Is my brother one. 

Steward. No. 

Grindstone. Who are the others then ? 

Steward. See the lift. 

Grindstone. My brother's a much better work* 
man than either Roughwater, Benfon, or Mattifon 
without faying any thing of that hypocrite Crooks 
By my faith, there is not one amongft the ten, my 
felf excepted, that is half fo good a hand as he is. 
Can't you contrive to have him put down, Collins ? 

That's more than I can tell, faid the fteward j and 
away he went. 

The wife, who till now had fat quietly fpinning, 
no fooner faw the fteward's back turned, than fhe 
unburthened her mind as follows : 

" You are thanklefs both to God and man Gabri- 
el. Kind Providence comes to your affiftance,. 
to leffen your extreme mifery ; and the only return 
yoa make, is to abufe your neighbours, becaufethey 
partake of your good fortune." 

Grindstone. Mighty good fortune, truely ! I mall 
earn a few pence as well as they ; and that only, by 
working like a Have I 

Wife. But till now you've earned nothing. 

Grindstone. Well, and I've had nothing to do. 

Wife. And your children nothing to eat. 






1 



Grindstone. What have I had more than they? 
Here the wife ceafed, and burft into tears ! 



CHAP. XXII. 



Remorse ofConscie?ice,is not cured by specious 
arguments* 



J\S the fteward was going from Grindftone's 
to Crooks's, he met John Doughty. If he had been 
aware of him, he would have kept out of his way; 
for ever fince Roughwater's affair, they had not 
been cater coufins : they had always felt embarrafs- 
ed in each others company. But this meeting was 
unexpected ; they turned upon each other at the 
corner of a lane. 

"It's you, is it?" faid one: "Aye," faid the 
other. 

Steward. I never fee 3*011 now-a-'day's: have you 
forgotten the money you borrowed ? 

Doughty. I have no money now; and I think I 
paid too dear for that you lent me. 

Steward. There was no doubt of this kind when 
you got it : but this is the way people always return 
kindneflfes. 

Doughty, A pretty kindnefs truly ! I have never 
known a moment's happinefs fince your kindnefs ! 

Steward. What noni'enfe, John ! you only fwore 
to the truth. 

Doughty. Aye, fo you always fay : but my heart 
tells me 1 am forfworn. 



82 



Steward. No, Doughty, upon my foul you are 
miftaken. You only fwore to what was read to you, 
and there was nothing written but what yon know 
was true. You know I read it over to you a matter 
of an hundred times ; and you always faid, ; ' Yes 
I can fwear to that." What can be fairer, anc 
honefter than that ? What fignifies then thefe qualms 
of confcience fo long after ? But it is the money you 
owe me that flicks in your gizzard ; and you think 
to flop my mouth by thefe complaints. 

Doughty. No, Collins, you're out there, not but 
that if I had the money I mould be mod happy to 
pay it ; that I might never hear your name mention- 
ed again. My heart came into my very mouth, 
when I met you juft now. 

Steward. Why I think the man's mad, with his 
nonfenfe, (faid Collins, much agitated.) 

Doughty. For a long time I thought the matter 
was as you ftated it ; but yet there was fomething 
went againft my mind ; and I could not help think- 
ing that the old Squire was deceived. 

Steward. What have j^ou to do with the Squire ? 
You only fwore to what you heard read. 

Doughty. True, but his fentence was given, as 
he underfiood the matter. 

Stezvard. If the Squire was a fool, what's that 
to you? He had the writing before him ; if he had 
any doubt about it, he ought to have had it altered. 

Doughty. Oh 1 I know well enough, you have 
an anfwer always ready ; but I am not the lefs tor- 
mented for all that ; and when I think of taking the 
facrament, it drives me almoft mad. Oh! Collins! 
If I had only kept out of your debt, or if I had ne- 
ver known you, or if it had pleafed God that I had 
died the moment we met, Ilhouldnever have tak- 
en this terrible oath. 



83 



Steward. In the name of goodnefs, Doughty, 

on't go on at this rate ; what nonfenfe ! You know 

\ took every precaution ; I afked the curate as plain 

is I could {peak when you were by : " Muft John 

'wear to any thing' but what is written ? tell him 

or he does not feem clearly to underitand it." — 

t)o you remember what he faid ? 

Doughty. Yes, but that very thing 

Steward. Did nc v * he fay in fo many words; 
Doughty muft not fwear to a, word more than is 
Written ?— Were not thofe his very words ? 

Doughty. Yes, but it is that very thing, his ha- 
ving faid 

Steward. What ! that very thing ; why furely 
hat's enough? 

Doughty. No, Collins ; I will explain myfelf. 
The curate owed you money, as well as me : and 
tovl know what a toper he was, how he frequented 
[he ale-houfe : what comfort can I have from what 
iiich a man would fay ? 

Steward. What fignified his conduct? You know 
le preached very well. 

Doughty. Nay, I know nothing about that ; but 
his I know, he was a man without morals. 

Steward. What's that to you ? 

Doughty. Oh! it is in this, as in every thing 
lie ; when once a man is known to be without 
>rinciples, and without religion, it is pretty plain 
lis confeience will (tick at nothing. So that I fear 
•our good-for-nothing curate has lulled me afleep, 
md involved me too deep in this rafcally affair. 

Steward. Away with fuch thoughts, Doughty ; 
/on only fwore to what was perfectly true. 

Doughty. I long wifhed to think fo .; but it is in 
/ain : I can deceive myfelf no longer ; my heart 
revolts at it. Unhappy Roughwater ! Let me go 



84 



where I will, he is always pre font to my mind. 
Poor man ! How many fighs he utters, while he ac- 
cufes me as the caufe of all his mifery, and of the 
ftate of beggary to which he is reduced 1 Then his 
wretched children, pale and haggard ; thofe fweet 
liule angels that w- re fo frefh and blooming, look 
now more like gipfigs : and it is my oath that ha 
occafioned it all. 

Steward, The clofe was n^ae I tell you; it was 
fairly proved ; and befides, what does it fignify 
now ? Roughwater is going to have plenty of work. 

Doughty. What care I for that! Oh! if I had* 
not fworn, it would have been nothing to me whe 
ther he was rich or poor. 

Steward. Think no more about it, man. 

Doughty. Oh ! Collins ! if I had broken open! 
his houfe, and robbed him of all he was worth, I| 
think my foul could have better endured it. Oh I 
fteward ! what have I done ? Alas ! alas ! Pailion- 
week is juft here— the Holy Sacrament. — O that I 
were buried an hundred feet under ground ! 

Steward. For Heaven's fake, Doughty, confide 
you are in the public ftreet: how you rave! Supjj 
pofmg any body mould fee you '. and after all, it ? 
merely nonfenfe of your own. I tell you one 
again ; you fwore to nothing but the truth. 

Doughty. Nonfenfe or not, if I had not take 
that oath, Roughwater would have had his clofi 
{till. 

Steward. But it was not you that adjudged th 
clofe to me ; fo what fignines who is the owner o 
it? 

Doughty. Indeed it would have fignined little t<^ 
me who owned it, provided I had not taken a i alfe 
oath. But, the Lord have mercy upon my foul" 
that concerns me too much. 



85 



Steward. Cannot you be perfuaded that you are 
not forfworn : I tell you, what you fw6re to was 
true. 

Doughty. But there was a double meaning in the 
words. The old Squire underftood them one way, 
and I another ; and I did not tell him ib. You may 
fav what vou pleafe ; I know that my own confer- 
ence tells me I am a Judas, a traitor ; that my oath, 
by whatever name you may chufe to call it, was a 
perjury. 

Steward. I really pity you, John ; you talk fuch 
nonfenie. But you are not well ; you look like a 
ghoft : and when one is weakened by ficknefs, one 
takes (Irange fancies. Compoie yourfelf, my good 
neighbour ; come to my houfe, and we will have a 
mug of ale together. 

Doughty. No, Collins, I have no defire ; nothing 
will ever more give me pleafure in this world. 

Stexvard. Be compofed, I tell you again ; think 
no more about it till you are quite well. Then 
you will be convinced that right was on my fide. 
I will give you up your note too ; that will fet your 
mind more at eafe. 

Doughty. No, fteward, no ; keep your note : 
I'll pay the debt, if I eat my own fingers. I could 
not bear to take money, which! mud confider as 
the price of anothers man's mifery. If you have 
impofed upon me ; if the curate has deceived me ; 
perhaps, God in his mercy may pardon me, for I 
little thought matters would have turned out as 
they have done. 

Steward. Here, Doughty, take your note I See, 
I tear it before your face ; and I take upon my own 
1 confeience, the jultice of my caufe ; ib be eafy. 

Doughty. Take upon yourfelf what you pleafe, 
fteward ; I'll pay the debt, as fure as I live. After 



86 



to-morrow I'll fell my funday coat, and you fhall 
have your money. 

Steward. Think better of it put away fuch filly 
thoughts, in the name of goodnefs. But I muft be 
going. 

Doughty. I thank God he is gone ; if he had 
ftaid longer, I fhould have loft my wits. 

The fteward was no fooner alone, than the re- 
collection of what had juft paffed, made him groan, 
in fpite of his efforts, to fupprefs it. 

I only wanted this, faid he, to finifh me ; I had 
had a pretty good dofe before. 

In a few minutes, however, his courage rather re- 
vived, and he went on faying, " I pity that poor fel- 
low : how he torments himfelf I and all without rea- 
ion : for it is no concern of his, how the Squire con- 
ftrued his oath. Who the deuce would ever fwear 
at all, if the fenfe was always to be fcrutinized fo 
feverely. 1 know many a one, and they too amongft 
thofe who ought to know better, who fwear, juft 
as they think the thing ought to be, and think no 
more about it ; while a poor fellow like Doughty, 
fancied the matter was as he faid, and is unhappy 
becaufe they have given a different interpretation 
to his words. — But after all, I wifh I could drive 
away thefe thoughts, they are a fore thorn in my 
fide. I muft get home, and drink a good dram." — j 
Which was no fooner faid, than done. 



87 



CHAP. XXIII, 



A Hypocrite, and his -wretched Wife. 

Jl±E fet forward again, in fearch of Judas 
Subtle. This was a perfect faint to look at ; you 
would take him for patience itfelf perfonified ; 
gnawed inwardly by exceffive fuffering. He always 
bowed as profoundly to the barber, the Reward, the 
miller, and to every new comer, as to the parfon 
himfelf. There was not in the parifh a more re- 
gular church-goer, not only on a funday, but when- 
ever there was fervice : and in fo doing the hypo- 
crite not only found food for the foul, but pretty oft- 
en for the body ; for he always contrived to go 
lad out of church, and to attract the attention of 
the clergyman,, who not feldom afked him to par- 
take of his pittance. He had worfe luck with the 
methodifts : he wiihed to be received amongft 
them ; but as he alfo wifhed to be well with the 
other party which was more numerous, they would 
have nothing to fay to him. His mortified air, his 
ftudied duplicity, his pious demeanor ; which in 
other circumftances would have recommended him, 
were all thrown away upon them : they would have 
no half converts. Befides thefe exterior and 
known qualifications ; he had for his family, pri- 
vate ones, which we muft now ex^pofe. Without 
farther ceremony then we muft declare, that with 
his wife and family, he was a very devil. At times, 
when they were reduced to the greateft want, he 
would have fome tit-bit for himfelf ; and if he could 



88 



not get it, every thing went wrong. He would 
complain that his wife neglected the children, or 
fome other part of her duty. If he had nothing* 
elfe to find fault with, he would pretend that his 
youngeft child, only three months old, frowned at 
him ; and he would give it a fmart flap upon its 
hand, to make it mind him, as he chofe to fay. 
His wife happened upon this occafion to fay to him 
one day, " Are you mad?" and he anfwered her 
With a violent kick, which fent her fir ft againil the 
door, and then upon the ground, with two large 
cuts on her head. 

The devout creature, was alarmed at her fitua- 
tion, thinking the wounds might tell tales ; and, as 
every hypocrite, when he is afraid of being un- 
mafked, can bend, and twift himfelfinto a thou- 
far.d fhapes ; Subtle begged his wife upon his knees, 
not only to forgive him, but not to fay a word of 
what had happened. 

She, poor foul, confented; and bore the anguifh 
of her wounds with patience, telling the barber 
who came to drels them, and the neighbours who 
inquired after her, that fhe had wounded herfelf 
by falling from a ftooh She did not gain univer- 
sal belief. Poor woman! Alasl fhe ought to have 
known from dear bought experience ; that a hypo- 
crite is a flranger to gratitude ; that he never keeps 
his word; and that her hufband would have no re 
fpecl for his. But what am I faying? fhe knew all 
this perfectly well ; but fhe confidered her children 
and was very fare nothing could alter his difpofi 
tion but the immediate interpohtion of the Almigh- 
ty ; and that any complaints fhe might make, would 
anfwer no other end than, perhaps, to excite the 
companion of her neighbours, who might fay : 
" She's a worthy good woman, and deferves a bet- 
ter fate." " It's hard {he Ihould fuffer fo much."-— 



i 



89 

She bore all with patience, relying upon God's 
goodnefs, and hoping that in the end thefe trials 
would be carried to account. 

O Eternity 1 whenever the time (hall come for 
thee to unravel the myfteries of Providence, and 
the happinefs of thofe who have paffed the furnace 
of adverfity, and have been found pure ! O Eter- 
nity ! what a glorious triumph wilt thou prepare 
for thofe, who in the kingdom of God, {hall receive 
the reward of their patience and their wifdom, 
which were held in fo little efteem by the ignorant 
and fhort-fighted of this world. 

Long before his wife was cured, Subtle had for- 
got the caufe of her malady, and behaved to her 
juft asmfual: he vexed and tormented her every 
day, and took all enjoyment from her life. 

A quarter of an hour before the fteward called, 
the cat had unfortunately overturned the lamp, 
which was out of the reach of every other accident, 
and had fpilled a few drops of oil. Upon this he 
attacked his wife with his ufual fury, calling out : 
" You infernal b — tch ! why didn't you take better 
care ? You may now fit in the dark, and light your 
pipe with cow cazons as you can, you beaftly fool I 59 
His wife wept, without faying a word, and her 
children fobbed around her. 

In the midft of this fcene, the fteward knocked at 
the door. — In the name of every thing that's good, 
faid Subtle, be quiet, be quiet Ifay this inftant, 
What ihall I do ? Collins is at the door ! 

Then wiping the children's eyes with his hand- 
kerchief, he faid, if any one of you dare but to fob, 
I'll flea you alive. 

He then went to the door, and with a moll pro- 
found bow, and a fmile, he faid : what are Mr. 
Steward's commands ? 

I 2 



90 



The fteward explained in two words what he was 
come about ; while the other liftening whether 
all was quiet within doors, and hearing no noife, 
faid, " do me the favour to walk in, Mr. Steward; 
I am anxious to impart this excellent news to 
my dear wife." 

The fteward went in, and heard Subtle fay, 
" here's Mr. Collins, who has brought me charm- 
ing news ; he fays I am to be employed at the build- 
ing of the church, which is indeed a favour I 
can never fufficiently acknowledge." 

Heaven be praifed ! faid the wife. But fhe could 
not fupprefs a figh. 

Is your wife unwell? faid the fteward. 

Subtle. Unhappily, fhe has been ailing for along 
time, Mr. Steward. — And fo faying he caft a look | 
at his wife, as if he would eat her up alive. 

Steward. I can't ftay ; I hope you'll foon be 
better, dame Subtle. 

Subtle. God keep you company, Mr. Collins : 
will you have the goodnefs to thank his honour 
in my name, for the favour he has conferred upon 
me ; if I don't take too great a liberty. 

Steward. You'll have an opportunity of doing 
that yourfetf. 

Subtle. That's very true, Mr. Steward: I was to 
blame to afe fo great a favour of you. I will go one 
of thefe days to the Caftle on purpofe, as I am in 
duty bound. 

Steward. All the others go on monday morning ; 
and I fancy you may go at the fame time. 

Subtle. No doubt of it Mr. Steward : yes, moft 
certainly. What made me mention it was, that 
I did not know the others were to go. 

Steward. Farewell, Subtle. 

Subtle. Mr, Steward, I return you my moft 
humble thanks. 



91 

Steward. You have no need, you have no need. 

As Collins walked away, he faid to himfelf : " If 
that fellow is not one of the greateft rogues on earth, 
I am much mifhiken. Who knows but he may be 
the verv man I want, to circumvent the mafon ? 
but there's no trufting to a hypocrite : I had better 
fettle with Michael Naggs ; he is a profeffed 
villain." 



CHAP. XXIV. 



A well-regulated Mind ; the seat of Joy and 

Gratitude. 



A. HE Reward's next vifit was to young 
Bitterbeer; who no fooner heard the news, than he 
gave a great jump for joy: like a fawn following its 
dam to the flowery meadows in the firft clays of 
fpring. 

Bitterbeer. I mull go and tell my wife, that fhe 
may rejoice with me: no, I won't: I'll flay till to- 
morrow. To-morrow it will be juft eight years 
fmce we were married ; it was on the nineteenth of 
March ; I remember it as well as if it were only 
yefterday. We have hadfome troubles, but a great 
many joys alfo ; I thank God for both. To-morrow 
then, the moment fiie wakes, I'll tell her. Oh ! I 
wifh to-morrow was come ! I fancy I fee her firft 
laugh, and then cry ; then hug me in her arms, then 
her children : fhe will be out of her wits with 
joy. Oh ! if to-morrow were but come ! I'll kill the 
pullet for the fealt, without telling her of it. She'll 



92 



be a little forry ; but fhe will be very glad. For my 
part, I have no fcruple, and no pity ; as the occafion 
is fo very great. Yes, I am determined to boil the 
pullet : I'll ftay at home, and enjoy the whole day 
with my wife and children. No, I won't ; I'll go to 
church in the morning with my wife ; and we lhall 
enjoy ourfelves much more, after having thanked 
God for all his goodnefs to us. 

Thus paffed young Bittei beer's private conversa- 
tion; overjoyed at the good news the ft e ward had 
brought him, and fcarcely able to keep it to himfelf. 
But the moment the day dawned, he executed all 
his plans. 



CHAP. XXV. 



Txvo Knaves. 



N: 



EXT comes Michael Naggs. As foon as 
he faw the fteward, he made him go fecretly to the 
back of the houfe ; and when he came, he faid : 
what the devil brings you here ? 

Steward. Good news. 

Naggs, A likely ftory ! you are the very man 
they would fix upon to bring one news of a 
wedding, a dance, or any other merry-making. 

Steward. It's nothing bad, however. 

Naggs. What is it ? 

Stezvard. You're to enlift in a new company. 

Naggs. What, what ? lets have it. 

Steward. You are to be coupled with Rough wa- 
ter, and Grindftone, and Crooks, and Trickerman. 



93 

Naggs. Are you mad ? what am I to do with all 
thofe fellows ? 

Steward. You are to help to build Finemade 
church, and the wall that is to be round it. 

Naggs. You're joking I 

Steward. Not I, faith. 

Naggs. But who can have picked out all the 
blind, and lame of the parifh ? 

Steward. That molt noble and wife mailer of 
mine, Sir James Grant. 

Naggs. What is he turned quite fool? 

Stezvard. Marry, I know not, 

Naggs. One would almoft fuppofe fo. 

Steward. Perhaps it's all the better : the lighter 
the wood, the fooner turned ; or according to 
the proverb : " If all fiddles are made of the fame 
fluff, they muflbe in tune." But I mull away : come 
|to my houfe to-night; I have fomething to fay 
jto you. 

Naggs. I fha'nt fail j but where are you going 

)W? 

Steward. To the grove, to Trickerman's. 

Naggs. That's a likely fellow for work ! one mult 
be worfe than mad to think of employing him. I 
doubt whether he has had either'fpade or pickaxe in 
his hand this whole* year ; and he has almoft 
loft the ufe of one fide. 

Steward. Never mind : remember to come to my 
houfe to-night. Farewell. — He went to Tricker- 



94 



CHAP. XXVI. 






Poverty, Pride, and Meanness* 



1 HIS man was once at his eafe, and carrie 
on a little trade ; but he had been ruined for fom 
time, and only fubfifted upon the fecret charity o 
the rector, and the atliftance of fome rich relations 
But his pride had never forfaken him, amid 
all his mifery ; and he took extreme care to hide his | 
poveity from every one but thofe, to whom it was 
his intereft to make it known. 

When he faw the fteward approach, he trembled 
from head to foot; he could not turn paler, he 
was already as yellow as a quince. He gathered up 
in a hurry the rags that were fcattered up and down, 
and* fluffed them beneath the quilt. He then fhoved 
his half-naked children into an adjoining room, 
where the fnow and the rain beat in, as all the win- 
dows were broken ; charging them not to make the 
lead noife. "Get in, you little animals; and let 
me not hear one word of complaint : the air 
will harden you." 

Children. But we mail be flarved to death, father. 

Trickerman. Get, in you little vermin, this in- 
ftant, I fay. 

He then pufhed them all in, and {hut the door. 
He ufhered the fteward into the room they had juft 
quitted. 

The fteward delivered his meflage, and the other 
afked him, if he was intended asoverfeer of the reft. 



95 



Steward. Coxcomb ! no, certainly ; you are to be 
i labourer. 

Trickerman. Hey day 1 Mr. Collins. 

Steward. If you don't like the employment, you 
leed not accept it, you know. 

Trickerman. To fay the truth, I am not ufed 
o fuch rough work ; but as it is for the advantage of 
the parifh, and to oblige our good reclor, I am wil- 
ling to undertake it. 

Steward. Moft certainly the parifh will be ex- 
tremely rejoiced; and I have no doubt but the 
Squire will fend you his moft particular thanks. 

Trickerman, I don't expec~l that ; but I certainly 
would not work days-works for every body. 

Steward. I fuppofe you have abundance of every 
thing you want. 

Trickerman, I thank God ! yes, I want for no- 
thing. 

Steward, I am glad of it : but where are your 
children ? 

Trickerman, They are gone to dine with their 
aunt. 

Steward, Indeed ! I thought I heard fome voices, 
complaining in the next room. 

Trickerman, No ; they are all out. 

Juft at this moment the children murmered 
'ouder, and the fteward opening the door without 
ceremony, difcovered them almoft naked, expofed 
to the wind, the rain, and fleet, which beat in at the 
window, and had fo ftarved them, they could hardly 
fpeak. 

He turned to Trickerman, and faid : Is this 
i where your children dine? Thou hypocritical 
favage ! this is not the firft time that infufter- 
abie pride of thine has reduced thee to thefe infer- 
nal fhifts. 



96 



Trickerman. For heaven's fake, Mr. Collins, don't 
tell any body: I mall be expofed to the tittle-tattle 
of the whole village. 1 befeech you, fir, keep 
the fecret, or I (hall be the molt wretched of men. 
Steward. What 1 have you fo entirely loft all 
feeling, that you keep them dill in that mifenable 
kennel! Don't you fee they are almoft periming 
with cold ? I fhould be amamed to f hut my dog into 
fuch a hole. 

Trickerman, Come out, things ! but, Mr. Collins, 
let me beg of you not to tell any body. 

Steward. And after this, you will have the impu- 
dence to go to the rector's, and play the puritan. 

Trickerman. O pray 1 Mr. Steward, don't betray 
me> 

Steward. This is too bad! and you pretend to be J 
a faint ; rather acknowledge you are a devil. Do 
you hear? you are a devil! there is not a worfe 
fellow exifting. By the bye ; how came you to tell 
the rector the ftory of the battle ? no one elfe could 
have told him. You palled by my door exactly 
at noon, at the very time it happened ; and after fo 
devout an errand, I faw you return very piouily to 
your own houfe. 

Trickerman. No, upon my word ; I take heaven . 
to witnefs, I never faid a word about it. 

Steward. How dare you fay fo ? 

Trickerman. I fwear it is not true ; I wifh I may 
never ftir from this fpot, if 1 faid a word about it. 

Steward. I'll take you before the rector ; and we'll 
then fee if you will perfift in denying it. I know 
more about the matter than you fufpect. 

(Trickerman Hammering) I know 1 — I 

I could 1 have not. It was not me whofpoke 

firft. 

Steward, What a bare-faced liar you are ! I never 



yet met with your equal. But we underftand each 
other now. 

So faying, he left him, and went directly to the 
rectory. 

The rector's maid-fervant was highly entertain- 
ed by the account of the pious hypocrite, and pro- 
mifed to tell the whole flory to her mailer. 

The fteward malicioufly hoped, that in confe- 
quence of this difcovery, the rector would withhold 
the weekly flipend he gave the miferable Tricker- 
man : but in that he was miflaken, for it was be- 
! flowed, not on account of any known merit in the 
man, but merely to prevent his perifhing from 
want. 



CHAP. XXVII. 

An industrious Girl, but undutiful to her Parents. 

JL HERE remained only one vifit to make* 
! Plainfpring had not been fummoned. He was a 
middle-aged man, not fifty ; but very infirm. Po- 
verty and care had ruined .his health, and at this 
time, he was in particular affliction. His eldeft 
daughter had engaged a fervice in the next village, 
and Hie had juft been (hewing him her faftpenny. 
The poor father was thunderftruck a$ this news,, 
for his wife was upon the point of lying-in, and Su- 
pra was the only one of all his children, capable of 
aflifling him in the management of the houfe. 
The father, with tears in his eyes, begged me 
K 



98 



would carry her hiring-penny back, and flay with 
him, till her mother was brought to-bed. 

Susan, No, I won't; if I mifs this place, I {han't 
fo eafily get another. 

Father. I'll go with you all the country over, but 
I'll get you a place ; only flay till your mother's up 
again. 

Susan. It's full half a year to the next hiring 
time, and who knows whether I lhall get a place 
to £u?k me fo well ? One word for all, I'll not flay. 

Father. You fhould recollect, Sufan, all I have 
done for you. Think of your early youth ; and 
don't abandon me in my need. 

Susan. Will you engage, father, that I {hall get 
as good a place? 

Father. How can you hope to profper in defert- 
ing your poor father and mother, when they want 
you fo much ? Don't go, my dear Sufan ; for Hea- 
ven's fake, don't go. Your mother has one apron 
left, that me prizes very much, becaufe her god- 
mother, who is dead and gone, gave it her as a 
keep-fake : you lhall have that, if you will but flay. 

Susan. I'll have nothing ; neither your rags nor 
your prefents : I can earn as good for myfelf, and 
1 muft not wafle the befl of my time at home. If 
I were to flay ten years, I fhould flill be without a 
bed, cr a {hi ft. 

Father. But your fortune does not depend upon 
the next fix months : only llav till your mother's on 
foot again, and after that I'll not try to keep you. 

Susan. No, father, I'll not hear of it. 

She turned from him, and ran away to a neigh- 
bour's houfe. The father remained overcome with 
uneafmefs and difappointment. 

Father. What courfe can I take ? How can I tell 
my wife what has happened . ? But it is all my own 
fault : I have fpoiled the girl. Seeing her diipofed 



99 



to work and be indufl rious, I have thought of no- 
thing elfe. I have never taught her the duty fhe 
owes her parents, and my wife has told me a hun- 
dred times, that whenever me taught the other chil- 
dren any thing, fhe did it with fuch ill-humour and 
lb awkwardly, that they never learnt. My con- 
ftant anfwer was : " but fee how hard fhe works ; 
it mull be the other's fault if they do not learn : you 
muft not blame Safari." Now I fee what all her 
induftry, without any other good quality comes to. 
There is no dependence upon a mind that wants 
feeling, and the fentiments of nature. Ohi if her 
mother did but know fhe was going', how {hall I 
break it to her ? 

While he was faying this, the fteward came up- 
on him unawares. 

Steward. What is this you want to tell your 
wife ? 

Plainspring. Oh ! Mr. Steward, is it you r I did 
not fee you. What I want to tell my wife, alas ! 

is ; that our Sufan has hired herfelf out, juft at 
the time we moll; want her. But pray, what is 
your bufmefs with me ? 

Steward. Perhaps it will make, you fome amends 
for the lols of Sufan. 

Plainspring. Marry, I ftand forely in need of it. 

Steward. You muft know then, you are appoint- 
ed to work at the church, at twenty -pence a-day ; 
that will be fome help to you. 

Plainspring. Merciful Heaven ! is it pofiible ? 

Steward. Yes, Plainfpring, it is juft as I fay. 

Plainspring. God's holy name be praifed ! (It 
was too much for him : a giddinefs feized him.) 
I muft fit down : this fudden change from grief to 
joy, overcomes me. 

He fat down upon a log of wood, and leaning his 
head againft the wall, almoft fainted. 



100 

Steward. You dont't feem equal to any fudden 
mocks. 

Plaiiupring. Particularly, as I have eat nothing 
to-day. 

Sreward. And it's late too. 

So faying, the Steward walked away. 

The poor wife faw all that paft, and was very un 
eafy. 

Wife. Bad luck never comes fingle ! My poor 
Eian has been out of forts all day; why, I know 
not. And juft now I faw Sufan go into our neigh 
boar's Iwingingher arms, as if all was not right : and 
now, to mend the matter, here's the ft e ward come : 
What can all this mean ?— There is not upon earth 
a more wretched woman than I am ! I am well 
turned forty, and {till 1 have a child ever}; year; 
and at the fame time, I fee nothing all around m,e 
but want, and every caufe of ttneaimefs. 

She ceafed : when her hufoand having a little 
recovered himfelf, came in, with a greater exnref- 
fion of fatisfacTion on his countenance, than tie had 
fliewn for a long time before. 

Wife. Yon pre u-nd to hide it. ; but do you fuppofe 
I dont't know the fie ward has been with you? 

Husband. He has : but he has been the meffenger 
rellerit news. 

Wife. What can that be ? 

hand. Sit down, and I'll tell you all about it 

He then told her how Sufan had cliftrefied him; 
v Ken ji i : at the height of it, this news came and 
brought him comfort. He then eat a morfel, which 
he had not ftomach to do before ; and both he and 
he wife joined in their graceful thanks to a merci- 
ful God, who had fent them comfort in thei 
greateft clittrefs. They new alfo gave their cheer- 
ful content to Suian's leaving them. 



101 



CHAP. XXVIII. 



Easter-eve, passed in riot at Collinses. 



X HE fteward, tired with his walk, and 
choaking with thirft, haftened home. It was al- 
ready late, and it was near an hour's walk from 
Plainfpring's to his own houfe. In the courfe of 
the day, his confidential friends had fpread the re- 
port, that the adventure of the day before had not 
at all affected him ; but that he was gayer, and in 
better humour than common. 

This news drew many to the houfe towards even- 
ing ; but they came, as it were, upon tiptoe. How- 
ever as the night grew darker, they grew bolder ; 
and towards feven o'clock, the tables were filled as 
ufual. 

So have I feen, in the cherry feafon, if fome 
Peter gunner chanced to kill a poor blackbird, all 
the reft fly away, and feem to warn^each other of 
the danger. At length, one bolder than the reft, 
returns to the delicious repaft ; and if he finds the 
coaft clear, he gives a chirp, and is foon joined by 
his companions. The lufcious juice foon drowns 
all remembrance of alarm; and they feafl, as if 
nothing had happened. — So it was with our topers : 
The Reward's fuppofed difgrace had kept them 
away; but the remembrance of that was forgotten, 
and they came again in crowds to the alehoufe. 

I muft flop here one inftant to remark, that all 
mifchief, nay even the greateft crimes are carried 
K 2 



102 

to the higheft pitch, when knaves are aflociated to- 
gether, and when the ringleaders are of hardened 
character. Such villains are feldom warning where 
liquor is going forward ; and it ia very eafy to con- 
ceive^ that Maris of vice are more readily learnt, 
in men fchools ; than are leffbns of virtue, in places, 
where no lure is hell out. hut the iimple charms of 
innocence, and well-regul v : :ed conduct. But enough 
of this. 

The peafants, aflemhled at the fteward's, yearn 
with love to him, becaufe his ale is good. One re- 
marked that Collins was a hearty fellow, and fwore 
he Would not eaiily meet his match : Another found 
out that the Squire was a mere child, and that the 
Reward had muzzled his grandfather. A third 
declared it was a mo ft flagrant a<5t in him, to think 
of depriving the pariili of its alehouie, an undif- 
puted privilege ever iince the time of Noah, and 
before Abraham. 

No, laid one of the mofl fiery 7 , may I perifh if he 
does: if the devil himfelf Ihould take his part, I 
vote for eppofmg it ; let us call a meeting to-mor- 

What Deed of that? faid another; Collins has fo 
for given his enemies as good as they brought ; and 
I warrant he is a match for this fine Squire, and his 
notable maf >n. — So they chattered. 

The Reward's wife enjoyed this difcourfe, B.nd 
helped them plentifully to ale ; never forgetting 
however to fcore it up in the next room. 

About this time Collins arrived ; and his heart 
bounded within him, to fee his tables furrounded by 
his bell cirftomers. 

Steward. Neighbours, I thank you kindly that 
you have not forgotten me. 

Peasants. Forgotten you! Matter Steward ; 



10 



,'})v fhould that be? hire's to you, and heartily; (A 
3ud ftiout.) 

Steward. Lefs noife if you pleafe, my f. iends ; 

ill keep a good n-ini; : ccnfider it is Eafter- 

ve ? — wife, Jhut the {butters next the ftreet. — 

think,, neighbours, we fhould be better in the back 
»arlcur ; is there a fere there, dame ? 

7r//>. Yes, a very good one. 

Steward. Well then take up your mugs, and 
et us go thei;e. 

So laying, each man takes his pot and his 

uncheon ; the wife takes the cards and the dice, 

nd they retreat into the back room, fo retired, that 

i murder might be committed in it, and no 

ne would be the wifer. 

Steward. So, now we may defy Hireners, and the 
Dlack gentleman's fpies : (meaning the reclor, and 
lis emiffaries the church wardens, whdfe duty it was 
o prevent any excefs at fo holy a time.) Mercy on 
ne, I am as dry as tinder; give me a mug of ale. 

His orders were loon obeyed ; when fiddler Grigg 
ook occaiion to alk him, if it was the fame 
brt of ale, that dogs were fo fond of? you'll 
3e cunning if you catch me again, Collins : what the 
levil was in the wind? 

Steward. Nothing, indeed : I had not breakfaft- 
d, and had no mind to drink ; that was all. 

Grigg. That's all in my eye, Collins ; I don't be- 
ieve a word of it. 

Steward. Why not ? 

Grigg. Why? becaufe the ale you gave us had 
fome deviiiih mixture in it. 

Steward. Who dares fay fo? 

Grigg. I dare, you old rogue. I fmelt the mugs 
as I brought them from the barber's ; and they 
were enough to poifon one. I did not perceive it 
while we were drinking; but when I came to fpell, 



104 

and put together, I found there mult be fome 
fly reafon for your generality. 

Stexvard. I know no more about the ale my wife 
fent, than the child unborn : you talk like a f< 

Grigg. Pray, do you happen to recollect the fin* 
fermon you made us, about the rights of the pariih ?-. 
perhaps that was done without thinking, as one 
takes a quid of tobacco. 

Steward. Come, have done, Grigg: } 7 ou never 
got your licks, which you deferved, for overturning 
my pitcher.^ What I want to know now is, what 
palled at the barber's after I came away. 

Grigg. Do you remember your promife, fie ward ? 

Steward. What promife ? 

Grigg. That 1 mould drink fcottfree till morn- 
ing, if I brought any news worth knowing. 

Steward. But no news, no beer. 

Grigg.- Agreed : dame, bring me a full pot. 

The ale being brought, Collins featedhimfelf be- 
fide the fiddler ; who told him along paddy noddy, 
part true and part falfe ; which put the Reward quite 
out of patience. 

Steward. Why, you lying rafcal ! do you take me 
for a buzzard, that I am to fwallow all this 
trumpery ? 

Grigg. I fwear, Collins, I tell you nothing but 
truth ; and I wifh I may go to the devil, if I have 
invented a word. 

Stexvard. So be it — But I fee there's Michae 
Naggs j I have fomething to fay to him. 

The ileward led Michael to another table ; an< 
calling for fome beer, they had the following con 
verfation, 



105 



CHAP. XXIX, 



Two Knaves well met. 

Steward. ARE you too amongft the wicked ; I 
bought that fm ce you were become one of the eleel, 
l> rebuild the church ; you were iuddenly become 

faint, like our butcher, who was converted upon 
ingingthe bell at noon for the fextori. 

Naggs. No, fteward ; my converfion will not be 
o fadden : but if once I mould turn, I'll ne'er come 
ack again: 

Stezvard. If ever that happens, I mould like 
o hear your confeiiions. 

Naggs. I'll find lome oilier auc'ience. 

Steward. Why ib? 

Naggs. You'd double mark the I'core of my nns, 
is you have done the fcore of my, ale, with your in- 
ernal chalk. 

Steward. It would go hard with you then. 

Naggs, If I mult confers, it fliall be to fome cha- 
itable perion, who will endeavour to lighten my 
aults ; not one like youy,who will make them black- 
er than they really &re. 

Steward. But I can forgive (ins. 

Naggs, Aye ! thofe of your debtors' book. 

St 'tvird. Jull ib ; and a heavy account it is. I 
•emit very few : — But a way might be found 
o make me ufe a fponge without pavment. 

Naggs, Indeed, matter! I would fain learn that 



106 

Steward, It may be learnt. (Here he made him 
a fign ; and they retired to a dark corner of the 
room, behind the chimney.) This will perhaps turn 
out a lucky vifit for you. 

Naggs. It could not come at a better time ; 
I am fadly in want of a bit of good fortune. 

Steward. O no doubt ; but if you mind your hits, 
there's money to be got now without fear. 

Naggs. What mult I do 1 
* Steivard. You mull try to get into the mafon's 
good opinion, "and appear poor and half-ilarved. 

Naggs. Marry, that's no hard matter. 

Steward. I would have you now and then divide 
your morfel amonglt your children, which will 
make you appear tender-hearted ; and mind to have 
them follow you up and down, barefoot, and in rags. 

Naggs. That I can do too. 

Steward. Then, when you have got, the belt name 
of all the ten labourers, your real fervice mud begin. 

Naggs. And pray what is that? 

Stetvard. You mud do every thing you can un- 
derhand, to excite fufpicion and quarrels amongfl 
the men ; put every thing into confufion, and fet the 
Squire and the mafon together by the ears. 

Naggs. That won't be fo eal'y a matter. 
Steward. Perhaps not, but it will be very profitable. 

Naggs. That out of the queftion ; it feems to me 
the kind of advice that a knave would give, 
and a fool follow. 

Steward. Always remember, that there is 
to be gained. 

Naggs. I mud have five millings hard mone; 
down updn the nail, or I won't engage. 

Steward. You grow more faucy every day, Mi- 
chael ! the work I want you to do, has much profit 
in it, and little trouble ; and yet you expect t< 
be paid beforehand. 



107 

Naggs. I am deaf, lie ward. You want me to 
plav the rogue to ferve you, and I am very willing: 
I promife fecrecy and pains, but I mud have 
earned. Five {hillings, without bating one farthing, 
and thofe in hand, or you may feek another chap. 

Steward. You cunning rafcal 1 you think I can't 
do without you : there are your five millings. 

Naggs. Now all goes on ftraight: give me your 
commands. 

Steward. I fhould think now, it would be nice 
amufement for you, to Heal fome of the fcaflblding 
in the night; and perhaps, knock fome of the win- 
dow muilions down, when the building is a little 
forward. Then cords, and tools, and fuch little mat- 
ters, might eaiily be made away with, and would 
ferve to forward the undertaking marveloufiy. 

Naggs. Nothing more eafy. 

Steward. Then couldn't you, fome of th efe 
nights, flip a few planks down the hill into the river . ? 
they would fwim away nicely, and get to fea in no 
time. You could eafily manage that. 

Naggs. All this I am equal to, as youfhallfoon 
fee. And to remove all danger, I'll hang a great 
white dog I have to one of the poles in the church- 
yard ; that in cafe the watch, or 5 any of the neigh- 
bours fhouid be difturbed by the noife ; they may 
take it for a ghoft, and decamp with a flea in their 
ears. 

Steward, You matter villain I the thought's worth 
a million. 

Naggs. I muft manage it fo : it will be a preser- 
vative againft that hempen neckclodi, which I don't 
much fancy. 

Steward. Right enough : but there's one thing 
you muft be fure to remember; if any 'plans, or 
bills, or any other papers belonging to the Squire, 



108 

ihould fall into your hands, be fure to make away 
vith them. 

NaggSii I'll not fail. 

Steward. And then contrive to manage fo with 
your noble companions, that thty may waite as 
much time, and do as little good as poffible. And 
then, whenever the Squire, or any of his people 
come ; contrive to have things at fixes and fevens 
as much as you can, and take a ily opportunity of 
making them remark it. 

Naggs. I'll do every thing in my power; I under- 
fland very well what you are aiming at. 

Steward. Above all, you and I muft feem to be 
upon bad terms. 

Naggs. I underftand you. 

Steward, We mud fall out now directly : for 
there may be fome fly varlet upon the watch here 
now, who will report that he faw us fitting amicably 
together in a corner. 

$$aggs. That's very right. 

Steward. Take a good draught or two ; and then 
I'll pretend to be fettling my accounts with you, 
which you muft difpute : I'll fly into a paiTion ; you 
muft abufe me ; and then I'll have you turned out 
of the houfe. 

Napps. An excellent plan (having nnifhed his' 
ale :) now then begin. 

The fteward, after having muttered fome calcu- 
lations, faid in a loud voice: ; * I tell you again, 
there's four-and-two-pence remaining unpaid." 

Naggs. Think again, Mr. Collins. 

Steward. 1 fwear I dqn't remember it. Wife, 
did Michael pay you four-and-two-pence laft week? 

Wife. No, as I hope for mercy, not a farthing. 

Steward. That's very odd ; give me my day- 
book. There's monday- — nothing paid Michael! 



109 

Tuefday nothing. Wednefday — didn't you fay it 
was on wednefday ? 

Naggs. Yes. 

Steward. Well, fee yourfelf; there's wednefday 

-and fee, thurfday, friday, faturday ; and not one 
word of your four-and-two-pence. 

Naggs. The deuce is in it, but I'm fare I paid 
it. 

Steward, Softly, foftly, Matter Michael j I take 
great care to have every thing put down. 

Naggs. What care I for your puttings down ? I 
fwear I paid it, and that's enough. 

Steward, It's falfe. 

Naggs. You fcoundrel, what do you mean by 
faying I lie ? 

Steward. Take care what you fay gallows-bird ! 

Some of the peafants now interfered, calling 
out : " He has abufed the fieward ; we heard him." 

Naggs, It's falfe.; but I infift upon it, I paid him 
honeftly. 

Peasants, What ? you villain ! do you pretend 
you did not abufe him, when we all heard you ? 

Steward, Turn the fcoundrel out of doors. 

Naggs. (Seizing a knife.) Let every man who 
values his life, keep his dittance. 

Steward. Take the knife from him. 

They crowd round him, take the knife, and turn 
him into the ftreet, 

Steward. I am glad the rafcal's gone : I verily 
believe he only came as afpy from the maihn. 

Peasants, As fure as a gun ; it's very weli he is 



110 



CHAP. XXX, 



More Weeds from the same Soil. 



H. 



.ALLO ! Dame ! more beer ! It fhall be 
all paid in harveft ; half an acre for every pot. 

Steward. But you muft pay me fooner. 

Topers. Not a day fooner ; but better meafure. 

The fteward fet down with them, and drank an 
ocean upon the ftrength of the half acre for a pot. 

They now all began to talk together: At every 
table there was a confufed clamour of oaths and 
imprecations, indecency, abufe, and boaftings. — 
They relate their tricks and rogueries ; the hard 
things, and the hard knocks they have given and 
received; the debts they have difowned; and the 
tools they have made of their creditors : the caufes 
they have gained by perjury, and cheating; the 
mifchief they have done : priding themfelves upon 
every fpecies of wickednefs, and exaggerating their 
achievements, though there was no caufe. They 
related their cunning Ihifts to cheat the late Squire, 
and how often they had robbed his woods, his corn- 
fields, and his tythes^ how their wives acted pover- 
ty, and taught it their children ; holding a prayer- 
book in one hand, as foon as the Squire appeared, 
and hiding a pot of ale under the bed with the 
other. 

They then boafted of the clevernefs of their chil- 
dren : how one helped the father to impofe on the 
mother, and how fuch a girl affifted her mother in 
throwing dull in the hufband's eyes. They ap- 



Ill 

plauded thefe feats, and remembered to have done 
as much when they were young themfelves. 

Then came the ftory of poor Hanger; who was 
unluckily caught committing one of thefe ac~ls, and 
was cruelly led to the gallows. — Do you remember, 
faid one, how devoutly he prayed ? So, I dare fay, 
his foul would be faved. He did not confefs every 
thing by a good deal ; but he would not have been 
hanged, if it had not been for an unchrhlian parfon. 

He was juft beginning with the parfon, when the 
Reward's wife beckoned to him that fomebody 
wanted him. 

Steward. Wait till they have done hanging the 
man. 

Wife. No, no; it's Jcfeph that wants you. 

Steward. Well, well, keep him out of fight ; I'll 
come directly. 

Jofeph had Hipped into the kitchen ; but as there 
was fo much company in the houfe, Mrs. Collins 
thought he might be feen : fo {he put out the can- 
dle, and faid to him : " Pull off your {hoes, and fol- 
low me very fuftly into the room below ; my huf- 
band will be there in a minute." 

Jofeph, taking his {hoes in his hand, followed 
her on tiptoes. The Steward foon joined them. 

Stexvard. What brings you here fo late, my 
good lad ? 

Joseph. Nothing very particular ; only I wanted 
to tell you that every thing is fettled about the 
Hones. 

Stexvard. I am very glad to hear it, Jofeph. 

Joseph. Mailer was talking about the walls to- 
klay, and prated fomething about cobbles, and fuch 
things ; but I gave little heed, and told him with- 
out ceremony he was a blockhead, that he knew 
nothing of the matter : that a wall built of chalk 
would be as fmooth, and even as a glafs. He had 



112 

not a word to fay againft it : fo I advifed him by 
all means to ufe chalk. 

Steward. Then it's all fettled ? 

Joseph. Certainly : we agreed upon it then ; and 
on monday the quarry is to be opened. 

Steward. But the labourers are to go to the Caf- 
tle on monday. 

Joseph. They'll be back by noon ; and the day 
fhan't finiih without forne of the lime being mixed 
with your powder : you may be as fure of that, as 
if it was already made up. 

Steward. Nothing can be better : How I wifh 
it was in the walls ' I have the money I promifed 
you ready, Jofeph. 

Joseph. I fhould like to have a little of it now, 
mailer. 

Steward. Come to me on monday as foon as the 
quarry is opened j the money lhail be ready for 
you. 

Joseph. Do you think then I am telling you 
lies ? 

Steward. No, indeed, Jofeph ; I am far from 
doubting you. 

Joseph. Find me then half-a-guinea directly, in 
part of payment of the money you promifed me : I 
want to pay the Ihoemaker for a pair of new half- J 
boots ; to-morrow's my birth-day, and I have no I 
mind to borrow of Leonard. 

Stezvard. I can't conveniently let you have it to- 
night ; but come on monday, in the evening. 

Joseph. I fee how much you believe mel and 
one may well fay, "promifmg and performing are 
two things." I thought I could have depended 
upon you, better than this comes to, Mr. Collins. 

Stexvard. You may be fure of your fifteen 
{hillings. 

Joseph. O that's all in my eye. 



113 



Steward. Can't you flay till monday? 

Joseph. Matter Steward, it's as plain as the fun 
at noon-day, that you don't believe me ; and I'll tell 
you what I think: as foon as the quarry is once 
opened, I may go whittle for my money. 

Steward. That's rather fancy, Jofeph ; do you 
think I mean to break my word ? 

Joseph. I'll hear no more ; if you won't pay me 
this inibmt, our bargain's off. 

Steward. Would'nt five millings do for you at 
pre lent? 

Joseph. No, I mutt have my half guinea: but 
then you may depend upon my ferving you through 
thick and thin. 

Steward. Well, if it mutt be fo, it mutt : but now 
mind you keep your word. 

Joseph. If I don't, you may call me the greatett 
rogue that ever exifted. 

(The fteward fpeaking to his wife.) Give Jofeph 
half-a-guinea. 

(His wife to him apart). Think what you are 
about. 

Steward. Don't talk, but do as I bid you. 

Wife. Why, what nonfenfe" this is ! confider 
a little ; you are half fuddled ; you'll repent to- 
morrow. 

Steward. Not another word : but pay him down 
half-a-guinea, I tell you. 

The wife went grumbling, and fetched the 
money ; which lire threw down before her hulband 
in a pet, and he gave it to Jofeph, faying : 
now you're not going to take me in ? 

Joseph. How can you fufpec~t me, Mr. Collins ? 

He took his leave, chuckling over his money as 
he went. 

Joseph. Well, I have got my wages in part : and 
I they are fafer in my hands, than in that old rogue 
L 2 



114 

of a Reward's box. But I am too cunning for him : 
now that I have touched the cafh, Leonard may life 
what ftone he will ; little I care. 

The wife, in the meantime, was burfting with 
rage. She fat and fulked over the fire by herielf ; 
and would not go into the room to the topers 
till midnight was paffed. On the other hand, Jo- 
feph was no fooner gone, than Collins began 
to repent of his folly in having paid him in fuch a 
hurry, but when he rejoined his jolly companions, 
he forgot his cares in the fcene of riot; and fat 
drinking and roaring, till twelve o'clock had ilruek. 
At lad the hoflefs came in, and told them it 
was more than time for them to get away, for that 
Eaftcr-day Wis begun. 

Eafter-day I exclaimed the drunkards ; fome 
yawning, fome ftretching their arms, and getting up 
one by one. 

You might have feen them daggering backwards 
and forwards, to get to the door; holding by 
the tables, and the wall. 

I beg, faid the wife, you will go out one by one ; 
and let us have no noife, or we ihall be all fined by 
the reclor. 

Peaiards. We had better flay, and drink the, 
money here. 

Wife* No, no ; get away. If you fhould meet the 
watch, don't fail to let him know he'll find a lun- 
cheon, and a good draught of ale here, if he 
will call. 

They were Scarce gone, before the watch called 
under the window: " Paft one o'clock." The wife 
went to the door with fome ale, and begged him not 
to mention how late he had met the company going 
from the alehoufe. This done, fhe helped her 
drunk and half-afleep huiband to bed. 



115 



REMARK. When the two or three lines which 
are now omitted, were read to a youth under ten 
years of age ; he exclaimed, " That's very wrong :" 
— I kiffed the child, and effaced them direclly. 

Amiable boy i if you can but preferve that deli- 
cacy of fentiment, and that innocent bluih which at 
prefent colours your cheeks : that which now only 
adds a charm to your tender age, will be your 
glory and your happinefs, at a more advanced 
period of your life. But if in your commerce with 
the world, and in the impetuofity of your paffions, 
hurried by the gum of ardent blood, you mould fa- 
crifice this fweet and modeft iimplicity; if the vi- 
vacity of your eyes cannot be checked, and they 
ceale to be call down with fhame, at the fight 
of any thing indelicate : if thofe cheeks mould ceafe 
to bluih at the mention of an indecency : then, my 
young friend, you may weep at the recollection of 
this circumftance. Then, perhaps, your only fhame 
will be in the remembrance of it- 

Juft now, I afeed myfelf this queftion ; how far 
may a moral writer, who is himfelf really moral, 
be allowed to proceed in the defcription of vice ? 

May I be allowed to defcribe with my pen, what 
Hogarth and others have not fcrupled to defcribe 
with their pencils ? — I have bluihed when the 
thought has occurred to me, and have looked 
around me, jealous lead any one fhould fufpecl 1 
had entertained it. At the fame time I can examine 
the painter's defign, in company with another man 
of the mod refpecled character, and feel no fhame. 
Surely then the tongue and lips mull be more inti- 



116 

mately connected with the heart, than the hands 
are. That art, which by the aid of the hand and the 
pencil, paints vice, and defcribes without fhame, and 
to the life, all the bafenefs of it ; does not corrupt 
the mind in an equal degree, as when the mouth is 
employed in the fame hateful office. In fo faying, I 
am not writing the panegyric of our poets and paint- 
ers of voluptuous fubjecls ; but the reverfe. And if 
I am rightly underftood, I think I have difcovered 
an interefting truth, in an age when the pafiion for 
trifling pictures to amufe the fancy is carried to fo 
high a pitch ; inflead of felecling fubjects more 
worthy of a rational mind. 

Dame Collins, ftill on the fret, kept grumblinj 
about the half-guinea, and her hulband's folh 
while he, fnoring and fnorting, foon loft all recoUe< 
tion of every thing. At lafl fleep overtook her : ai 
in this pious manner they prepared for the devotioi 
of the day. Happily for me, I mall have little 
fay of either of them for fome time to come. I re- 
turn to Leonard and Gertrude. 

And fo the world goes. — In one place, clofe 
to fome {linking hole, may be feen a garden, 
fniiling in the variety of its hues : and perhaps 
in the middle of an enamelled meadow, fpangled 
with fweets, an offenfive dunghill. And what is 
perhaps more ftrange, the flowers ; and fweets 
of life would lofe many of their charms, but for the 
contx 



117 



CHAP. XXXI. 



A good Mother, preparing for the Solemnity of a 
very Holy Day. 



VjERTRUDE, alone with her children, was 
meditating on the events of the pad week, and on 
the facrednefs of the morrow. Wrapt up in her oc- 
cupations, Ihe prepared the flipper* and laid her 
own, and hulband's iunday clothes in order, 
that her devotions might have no interruption. 
This fettled, me ranged her fine family round the 
table, to hear them fay their evening prayers. 
Upon this occaiion ihe never failed to remind them 
of their faults, and recalled to their recollection 
fuch of the events of the pan week, as were likely to 
inftrucl them, and purify their little hearts. On this 
day in particular, which had been marked by God's 
peculiar goodnefs to them, file wifhed to imprefs 
with force upon their tender minds, fuch a remem- 
brance of his general mercy, as that they mould not 
foon forget it. The children obferving a refpecTful 
fiience, held up their hands as if to pray, while 
fhe fpoke to them as follows. 

I have fome happy news to tell you, my dear 
children : your good father has had a job given him 
this laft week, which will be more profitable than 
his ordinary work. We may hope, my darlings, that 
in future we mail gain our dailv bread with more 
certainty than heretofore: Children, thank God for 
his goodnefs to us ; and remember the time when 
I was obliged to flint your meals. How heart- 



118 



breaking it was for me, when I could not give you 
a lufficiency ! but the good God knows his own 
time ; and that it is neceiTary for you, my dears, to 
be enured to poverty, patience, and moderation in 
your wants ; rather than to be brought up in afflu- 
ence. You may believe me when I tell you, that it 
too often happens to thofe who live in the abundant 
gratification of all their clefires, to forget Gcd, and 
neglect their duty. Take care, therefore, always to 
keep in remembrance, the ftate of poverty and 
diftrefs from which, I hope, we are now relieved. 
If we mould now fee better times, children, re- 
member to have companion upon thofe who are in 
want; and bearing in your minds what you have 
yourfelves fuffered from hunger, companionate the 
fufferings of your neighbour, and cheerfully bellow 
upon him whatever fuperfluity you may have. — 
May I not hope that you will attend £a what I fay, 
my darlings ? 

Children, Oh ! yes, mother ; indeed you may* 



CHAR XXXII. 



The Delights of Benevolence. 

Mother. NlCHOLAS, tell me who you know, 
that is in the greatefl want. 

Nicholas. Little Roughwater, mother: you 
were at his father's yefterday; and I think he m.uft 
be almoft itarved, for I faw him eating the grafs 
that was heaped up in the liable. 

Mother. "Will you fomedmes give him your 
luncheon I 



119 

Nicholas. That I will, this very day if I may. 

Mother. Well, I give you leave. 

Nicholas. O how happy I am 1 

Mother. And you, Louifa; who will you give 
vours to ? 

Louisa. I can't recollect juft at this moment, who 
[ would give it to. 

Mother. What ? do you know no child who fuffers 
from hunger ? 

Louisa. Plenty, mother. 

Mother. Then why do you fay, you don't know 
who you would give it to?yourconfideration is al- 
ways fo well-timed, Louifa ! 

Louisa. Now I do know. 

Mother. Who then? 

Louisa. To Barbara Trickerman ; I faw her yef- 
erday picking up fome rotten potatoes off the 
jileward's dunghill. 

Nicholas. I faw her too ; and I felt in all my 
pockets, but I had not a crumb of bread left. I 
wilhed I had^had my luncheon, half an hour later. 

Gertrude alked all the other children the fame 
Ljueflioa, and they all rejoiced to be allowed to give 
their (hares to fome poor child. • Their mother let 
them indulge the thought awhile ; and then faid : 
Enough of this for the prefent, children ; think now 
bf the fine things our good Squire gave you ! 

Children. O yes! thofe nice new Ihillings and 
Rx-pences I 'ill you let us look at them, mother? 

Mother. Firfi, fa; your prayers ; and then I will. 
•— This caufed a general fcream of joy. 



120 



CHAP. XXXIII. 



Prayer should be accompanied with religious 
Attention. 



Gertrude. \ OU'RE too riotous, children. If you 
would accuftom yourfeives to coniider that every 
good thing you poffefs comes from God; your joy 
would be mingled with reipe6t, and would not be fo 
tumultuous. I like to rejoice with you, and as 
much as you can do my dears ; but if, either in joy 
or forrow, we allow ourfelves to be hurried away 
by excefs ; we lofe that evennefs of mind, which is 
fo neceffary to the good government of the heart. 
Nobody can be quite happy, unlefs he pofTefies that 
evennefs of mind ; and there is no means fo likely 
to obtain it, as the frequent contemplation of 
the power of God. You mull never fail to pray to 
him morning and evening: that will ufe you to a 
think of him at other times. And, whether we thank 
him for bleffings received, or implore bleffmgs 
to come ; the reverence the a6l of prayer does, or 
ought to infpire, will prevent our running into wild 
exceffes, either of grief or joy. Remember alfo, 
that when you pray, you fhould endeavour as much 
as polTible, to quiet your minds, and humble your- 
felves before your Maker. Confider a minute ; if 
you have reafon to thank your earthly father for 
any kindnefs he has fhewn you, you do it not in a 
boifterous manner ; you exprefs yourfelves in few 
words, and by gentle carreffes ; and if you feel ve- 
ry thankful, the tears fland in your eyes. — So it 



121 



ihould be, my dears, with refpect to God. And if 
you feel fenfible of, and grateful for any mercy 
ihewn you, vou ought to bend with the lowed fub- 
miffion, and in few words, and with your eyes in 
tears, you fhould return fmcere thanks to your hea- 
venly Father. The effect of prayer, my children, 
ought to be, to keep up in your hearts^a warm and 
lafting fentiment of gratitude and benevolence, to 
God and towards man : and when we really pray 
as we ought to do, our minds naturally take a tarn 
towards goodnefs ; and then God will blefs us, and 
good men will love us for ever. 

Nicholas, Sir James Grant will love us too if 
we are good, as you told us yefterday, mother. 

Mother. Yes, my boy ; he is a worthy pious gen- 
tleman : and I pray Heaven to render him all the 
kindnefs he has fhewn us. I hope, Nicholas, that 
you will deferve that he fhould love you when 
you grow up. 

Nicholas. I will do every thing he would have 
me ; and obey him in every thing as 1 would my fa- 
ther and mother, becaufe he is a good man. 

Mother. That's a good boy ; think always fo, 
and you will be fure to be belove"d. 

Nicholas. If I could get to fpeak to him once. 

Mother. Why, what have you to fay to him ? 

Nicholas. I would thank him for thofe nice mil- 
lings and fix-pences. 

Jenny. You furely would not be fo bold ! 

Nicholas. "Why not ? 

Jenny. I am fure I could not. 

Louisa. Nor I. 

Mother. Pray, why, girls, could you not? 

Louisa. I could not help laughing, 

Mother. What ! laugh : are you not afhamed 
of yourftlf, to confefs before-hand that you would 
behave fo like a fool : If you were not fo great a 

M ' 



122 

rattle-brain, fuch a thought could not have entered 
your head. 

Jenny. I fhould not laugh ; but I fhould be fad- 
ly frightened. 

Mother. Child, he would take you by the hand, 
and fmile upon you as your father does, when you 
have done fomething to pleafe him : you would not 
be afraid then ? 

Jenny. No, certainty, not then. 

Jonathan. No more fhould I. 



CHAP. XXXIV. 



Maternal Advice that goes direSlly to the Heart* 



IN OW. for other bufmefs, children : how 
have you paffed the lafl week ? (She looked at 
them all round.) Jenny, have you been a good girl 
this week? 

Jenny* No, mother, you know I neglected my 
little brother. 

Mother. It might have gone very hard with him, 
Jenny : there have been inflances of children thus 
left alone, being fuffocated. Only make it your 
own cafe : fuppofe yourfelf (hut up in a room by 
yourfelf, without any thing to eat or drink, and 
that nobody came to you when you cried ? When 
infants are left to themf elves, they cry themfelves 
into fuch fits of paffion, as to make them fuffer for 
the remainder of their lives. I fhall never be able 
to leave the houfe a moment with comfort, if I 
can't be certain vou will never do fo anv more. 



12 



Jenny. You may depend upon it mother, I never 
will. 

Mother. Indeed, I hope, mv dear, you will never 
give me fuch another fright.— Pray, Nicholas, how 
have you paffed the week ? 

Nicholas. I don't think I have done any thing 
bad, mother. 

Mother. You forget then ; that on monday you 
threw your brother James down ? 

Nicholas. I did not do it on purpofe, mother. 

Mother. Indeed ! it would have been a pretty 
iiory if you had. Are you not alhamed to make 
me fuch an anfwer ? 

Nicholas. I beg pardon, mother; I'll never do fo 
again. 

Mother. If when you grow up, you fhould be as 
inattentive, as you are now, to whatever comes in 
your way, you'll be made to repent it. Even 
amongft children, the giddy ones are always getting 
into fcrapes ; and your thoughtlefmefs, my dear 
Nicholas, makes me tremble for what may be your 
fate. 

Nicholas. I'll try to be more careful, mother. 

Mother. Pray do, my good'boy: for you will 
otherwife be fure to be unhappy. 

Nicholas. My good and dear mother, I know it 
is true ; and I will try to be better. 

Mother. Now, Louifa, what have you to fay ? 

Louisa. As for this week, I do think I have been 
very good. 

Mother. Are you fure of it ? 

Louisa. Indeed, mother, as far as I can recol- 
lecl: I affure you, if I knew anything I would tell 
you. 

Mother. I obferve, Louifa, that you always ufe 
as many words, even when you have nothing to 



124 



fay ; as another would, who had much of import- 
ance to reveal. 

Louisa. Have I faid any thing wrong now, mo- 
ther ? 

Mother. You have ufed too many words for your . 
matter. I have told you an hundred times, that 
you have no difcretion. You never think before 
you fpeak : but fo long as you can but chatter, you 
think that enough. What occafion was there for . 
you to tell the lie ward the other day, that you knew 
Sir James was to be here ? 

Louisa. I am forry for it, mother. 

Mother. How often mult you be told not to med- 
dle with what does not concern you? and particu- 
larly before ftrangers : and ftill that tongue of 
yours can never be quiet. Suppofe now, for in- 
(tance, there had been-fome particular reafon why 
your lather would not have had it known that Sir 
James was to come here, and you had got him into 
ibme difficulty by telling it? 

Louisa. I ihould have been very unhappy : but 
neither he nor you laid I was not to mention it. 

Mother. O, very well ; I will take care to caution 
him wh?ii ks$e conies in, that in future when he has 
any thing to tell us,, he mull always begin by fay- 
ing: u Louifa may tell this to all the neighbours, 
and publifh that at the market-crofs; but about this, 
and this, and this, flie mult not fay a word." So 
that you may know exactly what you may chatter 
about. 

Louisa. Pray forgive me, mother ; I did not 
mean lb. 

Mother. Let me tell you then once for all ; never 
to put in your word, when the fubjecljdoes not con- 
cern you. But I am afraid my talking is to no pur 
pole ; and that nothing but fe verity will make you 
remember : fo take notice, the next time you chat- 



125 

ter out of feafon, I will ufe the rod. (At the men- 
tion of the word rod, tears came into Louifa's 
eyes.) Unreafonable talking, my dear Louiia, 
may produce a world of mifchief ; and I muft break 
vou of the habit, coft me what it will. 

In this manner fhe lectured them all round ; not 
excepting even the little James. — " You muft not 
call out for your porridge with fuch eagernefs ; for 
if you do, 1 ihall make you wait the longer, or per- 
haps give you afmaller.lhare." 

This done, the children faid their evening pray- 
er, and fmiihed by the one Gertrude had taught 
them for faturday ; which will be found in the fol- 
lowing chapter. 



CHAP. XXXV. 



A Prayer for Saturday -night. 



H 



E AVENLY Father I thy goocmefs is ma- 
nifeft to all mankind ; and more particularly to us> 
upon whom thou haft fhowered thy benefits. 

Thou provideft abundantly for all our wants, and 
from Thee proceed the daily bread, and every other 
good thing, which our dear father and mother ad- 
mini fter fo kindly to us. Blefs them for the plea- 
fure they take in doing us good : for though they 
teach us to thank thee for their kindnefstous, and 
tell us that without their knowledge of thee and thy 
works, they would love us lefs ; yet we befeech thee 
blefs them. They teach us to revere the name 
of Jefus Chrift, for that he has taught us to know, 
' M2 



126 

and to love thee, O heavenly Father. And we are 
perfuaded that they only, who walk in his ways, and 
obey the precepts he gave us while upon earth, can 
be faithful fervants tc thee, or be capable of fulfil- 
ling their duties to their children, or their fellow- 
creatures. Our good parents imprefs upon our 
minds a love of that Saviour, who in his heavenly 
care for mankind, pointed out the road to temporal 
and eternal happinefs ; and having lead a life 
of fufFering, finally Died his blood upon the crofs for 
our redemption. They have told us, that thou 
O God, did'fl raife him from the dead, and haft 
feated him on the right-hand of thy throne, to par- 
take of thy glory: that his heavenly love is ftill 
towards mankind, and that he wiflies our falvation. 
We are affecled to the inmoft of our hearts, when 
we think of the goodnefs of Chrifl Jefus ; and we 
defire nothing fo much, as to learn tolive fo as to de- 
ferve his love, and that he mould receive us into his 
heavenly kingdom. 

O gracious Father of Heaven I we poor children, 
who now offer up our prayers to thee, are brothers, 
and fillers of the fame family: grant we befeech 
Thee, that our mutual love may laft for ever; and 
that no thought contrary to the welfare of each 
other, may ever enter our minds. All that we 
can do, we will do for the eafe of our dear parents ; 
we will watch to keep each other out of harms- 
way, that they may follow their avocations without 
anxiety on our accounts. This is all we can at pre- 
sent do in return for their goodnefs to us. Do thou 
reward them, O God, as we cannot ; and teach us 
to love and obey them, till thofe latter days when it 
lhall pleafe thee to call them to enjoy the reward of 
their faithful fervices.. Molt merciful and omni- 
potent Father ! imprefs our minds during the ho- 
linefs of to-morrow, with a particular fenfe of all 



127 

thy goodnefs, and the loving-kind nefs of Jefus 
Chriil our Lord ; and let us not forget our duly 
to our parents, and benefactors ; but penetrated with 
the humbled fubmiffion to thee, O God ! and grati- 
tude to them; we may fo live as* to be allowed the 
delightful hope of inheriting thy bleffed kingdom for 
ever. 

We thank thee, O heavenly Father ! that it 
has pleafed thee to leffen the cares of our parents 
this week, in providing a means of fubhftence for us 
all, more certain than heretofore. We blefs thy 
holy name, that thou hail been pleafed to eflablifh 
oVer us a landlord who is a father to his tenants, 
and fuccours them in their diilreffes ; but more par- 
ticularly that it has pleafed thee to direct his bene- 
volent kindnefs to us. We earneftly delire to grow 
up in obedience to thee, and affection to him : that 
in all things we may do what is agreeable to thee, 
and ufeful to him w T ho has been fo good to us. 

Here Nicholas flopped, and Gertrude made 
each of them read the part that particularly applied. 

Louisa. Pardon, O God I I befeech thee, the 
faults that an evil habit has led me to commit: 
teach me to keep a guard upon my tongue 1 let me 
be lilent, when filence becomes me ; and when I do 
|fpeak, let it be with modefly and upon reflection. 

Nicholas. Preferve me, O Lord God! for the 
future, from my natural impetuofity ; and teach me 
to be attentive to every thing I do, and to all that 
furrounds me. 

Jenny. I am very forry, Good God! that I 
fo imprudently left my little brother ; by which my 
dear mother was fo frightened. I hope I fhaU never 
do fo any more. 

Mother. O Lord ! hear our prayers, and pardon 
us. Pity vis, and have mercy upon us. 



IgS 

Then Nicholas repeated the Lord's Prayer, and 
little Jenny lifped out '• Receive me, O Lord ! int( 
thy holy protection, as well as my dear father and 
mother, brothers and fillers, our good landlord, an( 
all our neighbours." 

Gertrude, having given them her blefiing, conclu- 
ded her pious office with the following imitation 
of a pfalm. 

Reflrain our acts, O mighty Lord, 

When profperous we are ; 
And in our forrows, help afford, 

From thy aufpicious care* 
Profper the works of my poor babes, 

And make their labours thrive ; 
Keep them from paths where vice enilaves, 

And lave their fouls alive. 

This act of devotion was followed by a few mi« 
mites filence ; which will always be the cafe, 
when minds have been in earneft. 



CHAP. XXXVI. 



More maternal Advice, accompanied bij real Piety 
and Devotion towards God, 



JLOUISA interrupted the filence. ."Now, 
mother, you'll let us fee our pocket-pieces." 

Mother. Yes, I will; but Hill, Louifa, you are 
the firft to fpeak. (Nicholas, crowding to get near- 



129 

>r to fee the money, fqueezed his little brother i'o 
ts to make him cry.) 

Mother, Nicholas, I am afhamed of you : in the 
ery fame half hour that you promii'ed to be more 
ittentive, you are as giddy as ever. 

Nicholas. Indeed, I am very forry ; 1 never will 
lo fo again. 

Mother. You faid fo jufl now in your prayer to 
jrod; I am afraid you were not in earned. 

Nicholas. Yes, mother, indeed I was ; if you 
mew how forry I am, you would forgive rne. 

Mother. I am alfo very forry, my dear, to be 
obliged to punilh you leafbyou mould forget again, 
iTou muft go to bed directly, without any fupper. 

So faying, me took him by the hand, and led him 
nto the room where his bed was. The other chil- 
Iren were confounded, and very unhappy becaufe 
>oor Nicholas was to have no fupper. 

Mother. Why will you oblige me, my dears, to 
fe rigour? I would much rather manage you by 
gentle means. 

Children. Pray, mother, let Nicholas come back 
igain. 

Mother. No, my dears ; I mull break him of 
that thoughtleffnefs. 

Jenny. We mall not fee our money to-night 
phen ; we muft not fee it without poor Nicholas. 

Mother. Jenny, you are a good child, then you 
[hall fee your money to-morrow, altogether. 

When {he had given them their fupper, me put 
them to bed ; where fhe found Nicholas (till crying. 

Mother. Be more upon your guard in future, my 
child, my dear Nicholas. 

Nicholas. O my dear, dear, good mother, prav 
forgive me, and kifs me before you go: I don't 
care about my fupper. 



130 

Mo'hcr. God blefs you, my dear child, (killing 
him :) but, O Nicholas, pra} T be more thoughtful. 

The child threw his arms round his mother's 
neck, and again imploring pardon, fobbed cut 
he would really be very good. 

The mother bkffed them all, and Went into tin 
ether room. 

She was quite alone. Her folitude was cheered b 
the feeble light of a litde lamp that flood upon th 
table: her heart was as light as goodnefs coul 
make it, and Ihe raifed her thoughts in gratitude to \ 
her Maker, with not lefs fervency becaule (lie wa 
fiient. Her mind turned upon the goodnefs of Go 
with (b much devotion, that (he almolt fancied her 
felf in his prefence ; and at (aft, the idea pofTefle 
her fo entirely, that Ihe infenhbly dropped upon 
her knees, and raifed her eyes ftreaming with tears 
towards heaven. Her heart had been Tbften'ed by j 
the repentant tears Nicholas had fhed j and his fol 
for forgivenefs, Hill vibrated on her ears. 

The tears of repentance are not without fwee 
nefs : and thofe of remorfe for having afHicled th 
good, are not without honour, even to a mar 
Such, were thoie ihed by a repentant fon, for hav 
ing given pain to the belt of mothers. Perhaps ti 
Almighty may deign to look down with benignit 
upon icenes fuch as thefe. Perhaps the effuhons 
Gertrudes foul might be grateful even to Omnipo 
tence : certain it is, that though her eyes were wet 
with tears, her bofom glowed with extatic hap 
pinefs. 

Her hufband entered, while flie was It ill kneeling 

Leonard, What ! crying, my love ? what can tin 
be for to-day ? your eyes are red and fwelled. 

Gertrude. My deareft hulband, thefe are th 
fweeteft tears I ever fhed : my heart was big witi 



131 

ratitude to God for his mercy fb lately fhewn us- 

wifhed to thank him ; but I could not fpeak : 

dropped down on my knees, and fell a-crj - 
ig: but I think I never returned him thanks 
) earneftly before. 

Leonard. O Gertrude! that I could foften the 
bilinacy of my heart, and adore God as fervently 

you do : I molt certainly wifli to be good, and to 
lew my duty and gratitude to my Creator ; but 
cannot do it with the fame humility that you do> 
or can I accompany my prayers with crying. 

Gertrude. Oh I if your heart is thoroughly well- 
ifpofed, the manner fignines but little : fome are of 
eak, fome of flronger minds ; but the eflential 
%'mg is to be in earneft. My dear Leonard, God 
ires little whether I fall upon my knees, or burft 
ut a-crying ; but he expects a firm determination 
) be faithful to him, and benevolent towards our 
How- creatures. One man is more eafily moved^than 
mother; but that is no more in the eye of God, 

an the different motions of his meaneft reptiles. 

pproach God in the fmcerity of your heart, 
id his mercy is fuch, that he will always be found. 

Leonard had now a tear ftanding in his eye : he 
;nderly embraced his wife, aud repofed his head 
n her bofom, while fhe preffed her cheek to his. 
'hey remained for fome time in that pofition, ab- 

rbed in an extacy too delightful foi words, and 
lat no words can defcribe. At length Gertrude 
^collected that her hufband had not flipped, and 
ropofed to make it ready. 

Leonard. No, my Gertrude ; my heart is too 
ill of joy to allow me to eat : but do you get your 
lpper. 

Gertrude I have no defire to eat neither; I'll tell 
:>u what we'll do : Let me carry our fupper to 
oor Roughwater: he has loft his mother to-day. 






13.2 

CHAP. XXXVII. 

No Supper ever gave so much Delight, 






Leonard. uO the poor foul is at laft releafed? 

Gertrude, Yes, thank God ! I wiih you had feen; 
how ihe died. Only think, that while ihe lay on 
her death-bed, ihe found out that the little boy had 
been at our potatoe heap again > and {he would 
make him and the father come and afk pardon. She 
infilled upon it too, that we mould forgive her, be- 
caufe ihe could not make us any amends ; and the 
poor man promifed in the moft earned manner to 
make it up to you by as many days-works as 
you would require. You may think how this affects 
ed me. I haflened to the poor dying woman ! but I 
cannot exprefs to you with what extreme anxiety Ihe 
aiked me whether I had forgiven them : and when 
ihe f aw how much I was affected, ihe recommend- 
ed her grand-children to my care, but with the ut- 
moil diffidence. She feemed to wiih to put it off till 
the laft moment ; but when ihe thought death preff-' 
ed upon her, then in a manner which markedi 
the tendereil affection for her children, ihe made her 
re quell, and expired. But you mould have feen 
with what tranquillity ilie breathed her laft: no ex- 
preffion of mine, no description can give you an ide 
of it. 

Leonard, Let us go directly. 

Gertrude, O, come with me. 

When they got to thg houfe, they found Rou 
water weeping oyer his dead mother ; and the 



133 

heard John calling to his. father from the next 
room, and begging he would give him a morfel 
of bread: or, if not, a raw potatoe, or any thing. 

Roughwater. Alas 1 my poor boy, I have nothing 
to give you; only be quiet till to-morrow : I have 
not a morfel of any thing in the world. 

John, O dear I how hungry I am ! I cannot get 
to ileep I am fo hungry. 

Leonard and his wife opened the door in the 
midft of this complaint; and fetting down their 
fupper, begged Roughwater to call his fon to 
partake of it before it was quite cold. 

Roughwater. O heaven I what can equal my 
fliame \ John, thefe are the fame neighbours whofe 
potatoes you Hole, and of which I ate apart. 

Gertrude, Pray have done, Roughwater. 

Roughwater. I am aftiamed to look you in the 
face, after what we have done to you. 

Leonard. Come, Roughwater, eat your fupper. 

John. Pray, father, begin : I can wait no longer. 

Roughxvater* Say your prayer firft, John. 

The daily food I eat and drink, 

Merciful God, I owe to thee, 
In all I do, in all I think, 

Still let me know fobriety. 

After this grace poor John fell to, half crying, 
lalf laughing ; fuch was the excefsof his hunger. 

May the Almighty render it to you an hundred- 
fold, faid the father; while tears were mingled with 
ivery mouthful. 

They eat only a part of the fupper, referving the 
remainder for the other children ; who were alrea- 
dy afleep ; and then John repeated the following 
jrace after meat. 

N 



134 

Thou feedeft every living thing; 
Let all unite thy praife to ling. 
But chiefly man enjoys thy care, 
And only man can thank by prayer : 
Receive then kindly, mighty Lord ! 
Such thanks as our poor lips afford. 
As I in ftature grow, and fenfe, 
I'll make a better recompence. 
My days to thee {hall be coniign'd, 
Nor ought but thee poffefs my mind. 

Roughwater would have again thanked his kind 
neighbour, but tears choaked his utterance. 



END OF PART THE FIRST. 



LEONARD AND GERTRUDE, 

Part the Second. 



CHAP. XXXVIIL 



The exquisite Sensations of a Mind, that does good, 
for the love of Virtue. 

Leonard. Y OU are not happy Rough water: is 
there any thing we can do to ferve you? pray fpeak. 

Roughwater. No : at prefent I want nothing. I 
thank you. 

They perceived, however, that while he fpoke, 
he could hardly fupprefs the grief that overcharged 
his heart: Extremely affected by his unhappy fitua- 
tion, both Leonard and Gertrude looked at him, 
and in the tenderer! manner faid : " But you figh, 
neighbour : what is it that amic~ls you?" 

John. O do tell them, father, do tell them : they 
are fo good ! 

Gertrude. Come, Roughwater, confider us as 
friends ; and tell us every thing you have upon your 
mind : if we can affift you, you may be fure we will: 

Roughwater. How can I tell you ! — well — then I 
muft. I have neither {hoes, nor (lockings to put on ; 
and to-morrow I muft follow my mother to the 
grave ; and the day after I muft go to the caftle ! 



136 

Leonard. My good man, how could you afli 
yourfelf for fuch a trine ? why did'nt you fpeak out? 
I both can and will affifl you. 

Rough-water . Oh ! gracious heaven ! — what ? 
you, after every thing that has pafled, place con 
dence in me ? can you believe I will reftore what 
you lend me without injury, and with the moft 
heart-felt thanks ? 

Leonard. O never talk of thanks ! and be affured 
that fo far from doubting your honefty, 1 would 
truft; you with ten times as much if it were in 
my power ; but the misfortunes and diftrefTes you 
have fo long fuffered, have broken your fpirit, and 
made you diffident. 

Gertrude. Yes, Roughwater, mufter up your cou- 
rage ; rely upon the goodnefs of God, and the 
affiftance of your neighbours ; then your heart will 
be lighter, and you will the more eafily get out 
of difficulties, 

Roughwater. Indeed, I ought to truft more in the 
Almighty, for his mercy is too apparent in your 
goodnefs, for me to doubt it ; but he raufl re- 
ward you, I cannot. 

He put his hands to his face to hide his emotion. 

Leonard. Good ! honeft man ! 

Gertrude. I fhould like to take a laft look at your 
poor mother. 

They took a candle to the bedfide, and Leonard, 
Gertrude, Roughwater, and the child, contemplated 
her placid countenance for a confiderable time, 
with tears in their eyes : then covering up her face 
again, they took leave ofeach other without utter- 
ing a Word. 

As the mafonand his wife were returning home, 
Leonard faid : "Such an excefs of mifery almoft 
tears my^.heart ? not to be able to go to church ! — -to 
be fo difpirited as not to be able to implore God's 



137 

affiftance to procure work I — not even to be able tc 
thank him when it is procured ! — and that, for want 
of proper clothes to appear in his Holy Temple !" 

Gertrude. Moft certainly it is (hocking : but if 
this poor fellow had to reproach himfelf as being the 
caufe of all this mifery, his mind could not (land it ; 
he would go diftracted. ^ 

Leonard. O how true that is ! if I mould hear my 
children crying out for bread, without any to give 
them ; and 1 was confcious it was my own fault, I 
mould certainly go mad! and yet— I have been 
within the verge of it. 

Gertrude. We muft confefs we were in great 
danger once. 

She faidthisas theypaffedby the ale-houfe door, 
from whence proceeded a confufed noife of oaths 
and imprecations. Leonard's heart beat while he 
was flill at fome diflance : but as he came nearer, 
he began to tremble ; and he (huddered with horror. 
Gertrude looked at him with an expreiTion of pity ; 
which he returned with one of exceillve tendernefs. 

Leonard. What blifs it is, when I compare 
the peaceful evening I pafs in thy bleffed company, 
with what I ufed to pafs in that d'en of drunk ennefs ! 

Gertrude was fo affected (he could not fpeak : me 
raifed her eyes full of tears of thankfulnels to hea- 
ven. He joined her in this pious emotion, and for 
a time they flood motionlefs. The moon was at the 
full: they confidered it with fixed attention ; while 
its bright, but gentle luftre feemed to be a pledge 
that God approved the tender fentiments which oc- 
cupied their minds. 

As foon as they reached home, Gertrude looked 
out fome fhoes and flockings for Roughwater, 
which Leonard immediately carried him ; and when 
got back again, they joined in a prayer of prepara- 
tion • for the holy ceremony of the next day ; 
N2 



138 

and retired to enjoy fuch reft as is the accompani 
ment of health and honeft hearts. The next morn 
ing, being rifen before day-break, they returned 
their grateful thanks to God ; and having read 
the hiftory of the Paffion, and the inftitution of the 
Holy Sacrament, they continued to praife the Al- 
mighty till the fun rofe. They awakened their 
children at the ufual time ; and having joined them 
in their morning hymn, they went to church. 

A quarter of an hour before the church-bell rang, 
the lie ward quitted his uneafy bed ; fought in hafte 
for the key of the cheft that held his funday geer, 
and not finding it, flamped and fwore, forced 
the lock, drefled himfelf, and repaired to church; 
where he feated himfelf in the moft confpicuous 
place. 

When he put his face to his hat, to feem to pray: J 
he held it fo, that he could caft a glance on both 
fides over the whole congregation. Immediately 
after, the clergyman appeared, and having perform- 
ed the fervice with the moft impreffive devotion, he 
mounted the pulpit, and delivered the following 
diieourfe. 



CHAP. XXXIX. 



A Sermon, 



M- 



.Y children! that man who feareth the 
Lord, and walketh with uprightnefs of heart, and 
devotion in his prefence ! walketh in the light. But 
he who forgetteth God in all his actions, walketh in 
clarknefs. Be not deceived: there is but one good, 
and that is .''God. 



139 

Whence cometh it, that you feem to walk blind- 
Fold, and by chance ? you have no father, but God 
done. Beware of man ; left he teach thee that 
-vhich is unwholefome ! — Happy is the man, who 
lath the Almighty for his father! who fhunneth 
jvil, and hateth iniquity : for the wicked man {hall 
tnow no peace and the iniquitous man is caught in 
:he net- which he himfelf hathfpread. Woe fhall be 
:he lot of him who injureth his neighbour ; and 
svhen the cries of the poor whom he hath opprefled, 
ifcend to heaven, let him tremble ! 

Evil to him who in winter affilts the poor, with 
he hope of double recompenfe, in the long days of 
abour : who offereth him to drink in the thirfty 
:ime of hay, that he may be paid two-fold in 
;he time of harveft. Evil to that wretch, who fedu- 
:eth the poor man from the culture of his field, fo 
that he leaveth it barren, and his children cry for 
bread ! 

Evil to the impious man, who lendeth money to 
:he poor that he may enflave them : that he may hold 
hem under his yoke, and have their labour without 
eward : who extorteth a heavy intereft from them, 
md compelleth them to bear a falie teftimony that 
le may invade his neighbour's right. 

Evil to him who aflembleth the wicked in his 
loufe : who concerteth with them mares to betray 
he righteous ; making them forget God, their 
wives and their children, and expend in vile dif- 
Drder the wages of their toil, fo that their families 
periih. 

No lefs evil to him, whofe ears are open to the 
reductions of the wicked, and who in his madnefs 
fquanders the bread of his children. Evil to that 
man whofe wife calls to Heaven, becaufe the milk 
dries in her breads for want of food, and her in- 
fant perifhes : while (lie confumes herfelf in tears 






140 

becifufe the work of her own hands, cannot earn i 
bread. 

Evil to that unnatural father, who gambles awa; 
the money that fhould have taught his ion a trade 

When the fon grows up, will he not fay ; Tho 
waft no father to me ; thou taughtefl me nothing 
that I ought to know, neither will I affifl thee in thy 
old age. 

Evil to him who faith the thing that is not, who 
perverteth truth and equity : he mall furely come 
to confuiion. Evil to him who obtaineth the wi- 
dow's field, and the orphan's houfe by fraud ; for 
God is above him : He will avenge the caufe of the 
poor and the diftreffed, and he will hold their op 
preffors in abomination. 

Evil to him whofe houfe is ftored with goods 
unjuftly acquired. He may exult with the falfe 
fpirits acquired by the intoxicating draughts, pref- 
fed from the labor of the poor : he may look with- 
out pity, and with contempt upon the wretch who 
loads his granary, while he fheds bitter tears of 
want and fuifering. He may fpurn from him with 
infult the creeping fervant, who only begs as a loan, 
the tenth part of what is juftly his due. — Let fuch 
a man harden his heart as he will, he can never 
know one moment of real tranquillity. 

No, it can never be, even upon this earth ; the 
man who grinds the face of the poor, can nevei 
know peace. Let his fituation be what it will ; lei 
him be (heltered from every danger ; let him be 
above the reach of juftice ; refponfible to no one i 
let him even be fupreme judge himfelf, poffefTed oi 
power to throw the poor innocent man into prifon 
and to dread nothing from his refentment : wen 
he the arbiter of life and death, and the inflicler o 
punimments ? he could never know peace. 



pe; 



141 



That man, whofe pride trampleth on the humble ; 
|#ho layeth fnares for the unfortunate, and leffens 
the poffeflions of the widow ; is a wretch more wick- 
ed than the highwayman, or the thief, whofe life 
is forfeited to the law. But fuch a man knows no 
repofe of confeience : like another Cain, loaded 
with the Weight of a brother's blood, his foul is 
ever in torment : he may wander from place to 
place in fearch of comfort, but there is no comfort 
for him. In drunkennefs and debauchery, impii* 
dence and wickednefs, hatred and difputes, fraud 
and deceit, indecency and oaths, abufe and invec- 
tive, in fcandai and evil-fpeaking; he may try to 
, forget confeience, but it will be in vain. The 
thoughts of God's vengeance will dill intrude ; of 
that God, who will fei/.e him like a powerful war- 
rior, and hurl him to that hell whofe torments will 
never fceafe. 

How different is the ftate of that man, who hath 
not evil in his heart; who is clear of the guilt of 
impoverishing his neighbour, and whofe (lores are 
not increafed by injuftice ! 

Happy is he whofe mouth fpeaketh peace, and 
whofe eye is mild and gende ; who is followed by 
the bleiiings of the poor, and for whom the widow 
imploreth God's rewards. Happy is the man who 
is at peace with Heaven, and in charity with 
all mankind. Happy, O ye faithful, ccme and en> 
joy the repaft provided for you by the God of cha- 
rity. The Lord, your God, is your Father alfo : 
he prefents you a pledge of his love, which will be 
a cordial to your hearts : and you will find the 
peace of your minds increafe in the fame propor- 
tion with your love of God and your charity to- 
wards men who are your brethren. 

But for you who know not charity, and whofe 
every acl demonftrates that you have not God in 



142 

your hearts ; you, who acknowledge not that man 
is the care of the Almighty ; and your own brother: 
why do you profane this holy place ? You, who 
will opprefs the poor to-morrow, as you did yef- 
terday ; what do you here ? Will you partake ©# 
the bread and wine, the fymbois of the body and 
blood of our Saviour ; and declare you are but one 
with him, and that you have but one heart, and 
one mind for your brethren who are his members ? 
—Ah ! quit this facred place ; retire frcm this feaftf 
of love ! Far hence 1 avoid. — Your prefence is op- 
preflive to the poor ; you deflroy the peace of our 
Lord's Supper, and give a bitternefs to the poor 
man's privileged moment of enjoyment, from the 
apprehenfion that to-morrow he wijl become your 
vicHm. Be not fo fpiteful : let him enjoy this hour 
of peace and confolation without alloy : remove 
your hateful form from before his eyes ; that form 
which makes him tremble, and (hakes the heart of 
the poor orphan when he beholds it ! 

But why do I warn you ? I fpend my breath in 
vain. You will never quit the place where you 
think you can torment : your delight is to fee the 
poor fufferers tremble ; and you hope, becaufe you 
want it yourfelves, to deprive others of their peace 
of mind. But you fhall be miftaken : I will bellow 
my pains upon the virtuous of my flock, and thini 
no wicked man is here. 

My dear brethren, you who are poor but honed 
drive from your remembrance all the ways of th 
wicked ; think no more of them than if they hac 
no exiftence upon earth : 

God ! whofe benignant and all-feeing eye 
Surveys this nether world from Heaven oa high 
Gives to the juft, delight without alloy, 
But from the wicked man removes all joy. 



143 

This fatal truth the impious foon will know 
When God's revengeful arm fhall bend his bow. 

Keep the Almighty always in remembrance, and 
truft in him ; fo lhall your prefent adverfity and 
your fufferings, in the end prove bleffings. If God 
is with you, fear not what man can do againft you. 
But ftill be upon your guard againft the infidious 
ways of the wicked : let your fufferings, your wants, 
^our loffes be what they will : fubmit to them, ra- 
ther than have recourfe to men who know not what 
companion is. The promifes of the hard-hearted 
man, are vain lies ; and his help is only a lure to 
$ecoy you into his power. 

Sufpee~l the fmiles of the wicked man ; he flat- 
ters you to betray you : reject his offered fupport ; 
it is a rotten prop that will let you fall. Avoid him, 
but fear him not. Be ftedfaft in the way of truth, 
like the great oak, that no ftorms can difturb. 
Look but at the foreft ; where the leffer trees feem 
for a time obfcured by their overpeering neigh- 
bours; yet they grow, and flourifh, and in time 
get ftrength to refill oppreflion. The fame fun 
nourifhes them both, the fame dews refrefh their 
leaves ; and the time will come when thofe lords of 
the foreft, which require fo much fupport ; oppref- 
fed by their own weight, muft fall to the ground, 
and then decayed and forgotten, they will help to 
ftrengthen their weak neighbours whom they once 
defpifed. — Truft then in the Lord ; his fuccour is 
never wanting to thofe who truft in him. 

The fury of the Moil High will overtake the im- 
pious man : then will he envy the poor, and thofe 
he has oppreffed ; and he will fay, " Why am 1 not 
like one of them ?" — Again therefore I fay to the fuf- 
ferer, put your truft in God ; rejoice that you know 
him, and are allowed to be partakers of that feaft of 



144 

charity which he has himfelf inftituted. If you par- 
take of it with hearts difpofed to benevolence; you 
will find the burthens of the world lightened, 
and your ftrength to fupport them increafed 
Rejoice in the knowledge you have of that God who 
is himfelf charity : cherilh a difpofition to it in 
your hearts ; for without it, you will become like 
one of thofe, whafe fnares I caution you to avoid. 
Blefs the goodnefs of our Lord, for the inftitution 
of his Holy Supper ; and that amongft the innume- 
rable of his ele6t, he has deigned to admit you 
to partake of it. Glorify him for the revelation of 
his charity; it is the redemption of the world, and 
the tie that unites him to his creatures. Without 
charity man is without God ; and what is man, 
wanting thofe things ? can the mind of man conceive | 
any thing fo abject? For my part I cannot. 

Happy then are they who leek the Lord, whofe j 
charity exalts them from brutes to men, from dark- 
nefs to light ; from death to everlafting life ! again 
I fay, happy are they who know God ; and I befeech 
you, my brethren, to pray for them who are without ! 
his knowledge; that they may be enlightened i 
by the truth, and partake of your joy. — .My chil- 1 
dren, approach the table of the Lord. Amen. 

Having fiiiiihed his fermon, the good rector 
began to adminifter the facrament. Collins, being 
the principal man of the village, afftfted in handing 
the cup ; and when the ceremony was concluded, 
and the benediction given, every one retired to his 
own home. 



145 



CHAP. XL. 



The Excellence of the Sermon proved by its Effect, 



L HE fteward was highly offended at the 
rector's pointed difcourfe againft the wicked. His 
rage boiled to fuch excefs, that he could not contain 
it ; and that very day which almoft all the pariih fet 
apart for ferious devotion, was profaned by in- 
vecHves, and horrible imprecations- againft the 
prieft. He was no fooner returned from the com- 
munion-table , than he affembled the worthy com- 
panions of his drunken exceffes ; who haftened to 
obey his fummons, and joined him in his impious 
abufe. He opened by faying, M I cannot endure thefe 
damned pointed, and injurious fermons." 

Bitterbeer. You are right; and it is a fm and 
a mame, that the parfon Ihould preach them, par- 
ticularly on a day fo holy as this. 

Steward, The pitiful thump-cufhion knows I 
cannot bear it, and that's his only reafon. It mu ft 
be fine fun for him to deal his hateful jargon to the 
right and left upon fubjects he does not underftand, 
fo as to difguft one, and almoft drive one to defpair, 

Bitterbeer. Moil certainly, the gentlenefs of cur 
Saviour and his Apoilles never abufed any one in 
the New Teftament. 

Grigg. What do you mean by that? He has ufcd 
ftronger terms than ever our parfon did. 

Bitterbeer, That's not true, Grigg. 



O 



146 

Grigg. You are an afs, Bitterbeer. What think 
you of " Blind Guides ; Serpents ; Generation o 
Vipers ?" You might have read this in your bible. 

Peasants. What he fays is very true : there is 
abufe in the Teftament: but then, they never 
talked of lawfuits, nor falfe oaths ; and befides, 
it was moft likely to other forts of men from oui 
lie ward. 

(Other Peasants, J Aye, no doubt ; quite other 
forts of men. 

Grigg. That I believe, or I think they would not 
have dared to fay fo much. Think of what I am 
going to tell you. — One day a certain Ananias- — 
yes, I am right; that was his name :— he fell down, 
and died upon the fpot; and fo did his wife: only 
becaufe they told a lie ! 

Peasants. But is that true, Grigg? Only for tell- 
ing a lie ? 

Grigg. As true as I fit here. 

Bitterbeer. One muft own it is a fine thing to 
know the bible. 

Grigg. I may thank my father who is dead and 
buried for that ; but in other refpecls, Heaven par- 
don Him, he was no great faint. He wafted all ihe 
money he got with my mother, to the laft penny : 
but there are blacker matters than that againft him ; 
he was thought to be nearly connected with that 
Hanger, who ended his days at Tyburn. Thofe are 
blots that remain in a family for two or three gene- 
rations : but as for the bible, he knew it as well as 
anyparfon of them all, and would make his children 
learn it too ; there was no avoiding it. 

Bitterbeer. 1 have often wondered, that knowing 
fo much as he did, he could be fuch a good-for- 
nothing fellow. 

Peasants. Aye, that comes of learning. 



147 

( J er-om ;— -a traveller who chanced to be in the 
alehoufe for refreshment). I am amufed, gentle- 
men, at your furprife. If learning always made 
men honeft, we ihould have nothing but hcnefl 
lawyers and attornies ; — -with all refpeet be it 
fpoken. 

Peasants. Marry, that's very true j nothing can 
be truer. 

Jerom. You may depend upon it ; there is a very 
wide difference between knowing what is right to be 
done, and doing it. He who profeffes only to know, 
is very apt to forget how he ihould aeT. 

Peasants. You fay very right ; without practice 
one unlearns very fait. 

Jerom. It's very natural it Ihould be fo; for 
idlenefs is the root of all evil. What can be more 
tirefome than a man, who for want of fomething 
elfe to do, gets a habit of prating, without under- 
ft-anding himfelf, or making any one elfe the wifer. 
Only take notice, and you will always find thatthofe 
fellows who affect fuch a deal of wifdom, which 
they have found in the news-papers, and who fome- 
limes mix fcraps from the bible ; only make a noife, 
without much meaning. If one ihould aik them 
about huibandry, the education of one's children, 
about any art or trade ; or if one ihould aik their 
advice in any dii&culty ; they would be quite loft, 
and have nothing to fay. It is only amongft idle 
fellows like themf elves, at alehoufe s, merry-mak- 
ings, and fo fot th ; that they can find any hearers : 
there they are in their place ; but their only merit 
confifts in a continued babble of nonfenfical ilories, 
without fenfe or meaning. And yet this is carried 
to fuch a pitch, that you fee houfes filled with honeft 
countrymen, whofe ears are tickled by thefe fellows 
of found without fenfe, and they tajce them for fo 
many Solomons. 



148 

Bitterbeer. This gentleman talks very well 
Grigg; and he has defcribed your father to %'; 
ihaving. That's the very man in every particular 
he was as mere a fool, if you talked to him about 
cultivation, or fencing, or ftock, as man could fee; 
and he was as idle as a drone. But at the alehoufe, 
in a winter's evening; or in the church-yard after 
fervice was over, he would talk like a book, about 
all forts of things. About Jefus Chrift, and the 
Witch of Endor ; and then about Mother Shipton 
and Humphries and Mendoza, and the Herring 
Fiihery, and Mrs Pitt and Lord Nelfon. Let him" 
talk of what he would, he always found lifteners ; 
till at laft he failed a little too near the wind 
and his credit failed him. 

Jerom* It was high time. 

Bitterbeer. Yes, he pigeoned us a long time : we 
ufed to pay his fcore for the lies he could tell. 

Jerom. It would have been better for him, if you 
had let him thirft a little. 

Bitterbeer, Yes, by my faith ; if he had not 
quenched himfelf at our expence, he would not 
have had fo near a fight of the gallows, and would 
have taken to work perhaps. 

Jerom. So that your kindnefs ruined him. 

Peasants. There never was a greater truth. 

Jerom. There is no good to be learnt from theie 
idle ftory-tellers : it is all time thrown away, parti- 
cularly if they profanely talk of the bible. 

Hoskins. It was on account of one of thefe 
flories, and I verily think out of the bible, that my 
father gave mefuch a drefling as I fhall never forg;-t. 
I ftaid to Men to it, inftead of fetching up the 
cows. 

Jerom. He ferved you very right: it is our duty 
to do what tbr bible bids us, and it only belongs to 
the parfon to explain fuch parts as we could not 



149 

otherwife underftand. The bible is an edict, a 
commandment: fuppofe the juftices were to iffuean 
order for your pariih to ballot in all hafte for 
£o many men to the militia, in time of invafion, and 
the French at your doors: whet would be the 
confequence, if, inftead of obeying, you were to take 
the order to the alehoufe, and difcufs each fentence 
word by word ? 

Bitterbeer. The confequence ? why we {hould de- 
ferve to have the French come and fet fire to 
our houfes, and burn our families. 

Jerom. It is much the fame with thofe who only 
read the bible, that they may talk of it at the public- 
houie. 

Grigg. This is all very well: but if we don't 
read it, how can we know our duty t 

Jerom, It is one thing to read it for inftruclion ; 
and another, for the purpofe of prating about it at 
every lane end.* 

Bitterbeer. But tell me, my good friend, how 
comes it that people fay, learning can never 
do hurt I It feems from what you have faid, that 
there is danger in knowing too much. 

Jerom. Moft certainly, comrade ; if it makes 
you neglect what is more effential. Learning (hould 
|be only conducive to good acts ; and when one 
ftudies, merely for the fake of talking about it ? 



* There may be some, who may wonder at this serious turn of 
thought, in confirmed vagabonds : but, I believe, there are times, 
and circumstances, which bring such thoughts home to the minds 
of such men, with as much force, as to any of my readers. 
There are moments, when they talk and judge with seriousness, 
as well as with much simplicity and good-sense. Those who 
think that a disorderly and drunken countryman, has no returns of 
solid reflection, are I think deceived. His reason forsakes him 
only when he has drunk too much ; and that was not as yet the 
case with the present company. 

02 



150 



it unhinges one from all ufeful employments. All 
Icience, and the application of it may be compared 
to a trade. A fhoemaker, for inftance, ought to 
work at his trade ; it is his livelihood: but he ouglv 
to ftudy the quality, and the value of leather, to en 
able him to turn his work to the beft account, 
lb with every thing elfe. To execute is the effential, 
but it is neceffary to underftand, in order to execute 
well. Thus every one ought to regulate his thij it 
of knowledge, by the ufe it may be of to him. 

Bitterbeer. I now think I begin to underhand 
you. When one's head is too much charged \vi 
uielefs knowledge, it prevents one's attending 



wnic 



h is the nrft of all things. 



Jerom. Juft as you fay : every man ihould turn 
his mind, and all his care, to what concerns him tne 
moft: at leaft that's my way. I keep no bees j 
therefore I don't trouble myfelf about which is the 
beft fort of hive : and till I poffefs an orchard, I 
mall care little about the management of fruit-trees. 
But I have a little land, that requires a great deal 
of improvement ; therefore I confider with all my 
might, how I can make the greateft quantity of 
manure. So I think, if every man only minded his 
own bufmefs, things would go on better than they 
do. The proverb fays, u The good cow thrives, 
with mailer's eyes." A man foon learns a deal, if 
he is only refolved to learn well ; but if he grafps too 
much, he lofes all. If he plants his learning by little 
and little, and regularly in his head, it ftays there ; 
but if he crowds it with a pack of ftuff about poli- 
tics, and the meaning of dreams, and the lucky and 
unlucky numbers in the lottery: his head's like our 
Molly's drawers, all rags and tatters, and nothing 
worth . 

Bitterbeer. This is, however, all that moft of your 
talkers know. 



151 

During this difcourfe, the Reward fat croodling 
aver the tire: he was chilly, and abfent. He attend- 
ed to little of what paffed ; and if he now and then 
put in a word, it had not much meaning. Entirely 
wrapped up in his own thoughts, he forgot to puih 
iboui the can ; and that made the ftranger's and 
IHtterbeer's dialogue fo long. Perhaps alio he had 
no mind to deliver his thoughts before a man 
he (iidi.ot know ; and fo waited till he had fmiihed 
kis {hack, a -d his pint of aie, and was gone away *. 
tor the moment the door was ihut, he ran off the 
tollowing rant, in a breath; as if he had been ftudy- 
ing it during his reverie. 

Stezvard. This parfon will always have it that we 
grind the poor. Now the devil take me, if 1 don't 
think thev ihould be what he calls ground ; for 
without that, there would be nothing like order in 
the work! : there would be no poor left. Let us look 
where we will, from the prince to the peafant ; 
rom the court of Kings-bench to cur ve (try-meet- 
ing; the only object is felf-inttreft. Every man 
jollies his neighbour; and it is catch who catch can. 
The late reclor fold ale as 1 do, only underhand; 
and though he took no money, he was pckl in hay 
and corn, and whatever he cpuld get; as well 
as, as much as he could get. The flrcr ger opprefles 
the weaker all the world over; and it is my own 
cafe to be ground fometirnes. If a man willies to 
get a little up in the world, he mull look lharp to the 
main chance -.or he may have his teeth pulled out 
of his head. Our parfon does not know the poor as 
he cans th^ro, as well as I do; or he would not 
1 trouble himfelf fo much about them : and 1 am not 
fure that he cares fo much about them either; 
he has only a mind to find fault with his betters, 
and get us by that means all under his thumb. But 
he 1 ll not fo eafily trap me : the poor are a pack of 



152 



1 



rif-raff, and if at any time I want half a fcor 
fcoundrels, I ihall foon find eleven amongft them 
I ihould like to have my rents brought to me every ' 
quarter-day, without any trouble ; I could then play 
the hypocrite, as well as another. But mine's 
v a very different cafe. I mull live by hard labour, 
and muft pick up my miferable flipend as I can get 
it ; and I muft look (harp too, or I ihould foon wan 
a piece of bread. I'll bet any money, that if I was 
to fhew the leaft compaffion to thofe fellows, 
ihould never get a farthing. — There's fcarce an ho 
nefl man in the world. 

Thus ended this fine harangue; not howeve 
without violent efforts : for his confcience told him 
every word the reclor faid was true : there was no 
end to his extortion : he might be called the leech 
of the parifh. It was in vain he pretended to juflify 
himfelf ; every body faw how uneafy he was : for he 
could not fit ftill, but paced about from one end of 
the room to the other. 

After a fhort filence, he began again. " That 
curfed fermon this morning, has quite overfet me : 
I don't know what ails me, but I am unwell. Is it 
fo very cold neighbours? I am quite fhivering." 

Peasants, No, it is not cold at all: but it was 
plain enough to fee at church that you were 
not well ; you looked as pale as death. 

Steward, Aye, indeed, did you notice it? I was 
not at all well. — I think I am feverifh. — I am 
fo depreffed, I muft getfome liquor. Let us go into 
the back room, while they are at church. 



153 



CHAP. XLI. 



The Topers are discovered. 

CJNE of the churchwardens, who lived at no 
*reat diftance fronvthe ale-houfe ; and whofe duty 
t was to check all diibrder on a fun day ; had obferv- 
d Bitterbeer, and Grigg, and fome others of the 
fame kidney, dropping in one by one between 
morning and evening fervice ; and was extremely 
concerned and fcandalized at it. He recollected 
|th at be was in duty bound to make fuch practices 
aiown to the minifter : and accordingly he fet a 
jperfon he could depend upon, to watch whether 
thefe men returned home before the fervice began, 
or whether they continued at Collins's. Juft when 
the bell put in, he went to the rectory, to report. 
the precaution he had taken; and made Samuel 
Trutman go with him, who had been appointed to 
watch. The re ctor was very much hurt at this ac- 
count, but fuid litile ; which made the churchwar- 
den fuppofe he was thinking of his fermon. At 
length, turning to Samuel, he faid : " You're fure 
th ofe men are flill at the ale-houfe ?" 

Sdmueh Moll certainlv, "your reverence ; for 
from the moment the churchwarden fet me to 
watch, till the bell began to ring, nobody came out 
'of the. houfe but Mrs. Collins ; and fhe is gone in- 
to the church* 

Rector. Sovou're fure they are Mill tHere ? 

Sa'mhH. Quite fure, fir. 



154 



Rector. It's a melancholy thing, that on a day fo 
facred as this, there mould happen a circumftance 
to unhinge my thoughts, and make me fo uneafy 

Churchwarden. I hope your Reverence is no 
difpleafed at what 1 have done ; I thought it ws 
my duty. 

Rector. I know it was, and I am much obligee 
to you : but let us take this opportunity to reflect 
that in fulfilling our leffer duties, we mull not ne 
gle£l the more effential. Let us go to the church, 
and pray to God to keep us out of temptation ; that 
we may avoid committing the fault that I am de 
ploring. 

After a moment's paufe he added : " No ; there 
is no overlooking fo fcandalous an ac~l of debauch* 
ery : Indulgence in this cafe,- would be to enco 
rage vice." — So faying, he proceeded to th 
church. 






CHAP. XLII. 



The morning Discourse continued* 



I 



N continuing the Hiftory of the Paffion, the 
re&or took thefe^words for his text, (13th Chapter 
of St. John, 27th Verfe.) 

The general tenour of his difcourfe, was the 
treachery of Judas ; on which he enlarged with fo 
much zeal and animati-on, that the pulpit almoft 
(hook under him ; he had never fpo^en with great- 
er energy. Amongft other things, he faid, that 
they who reforted to the alehoufe, immediately af«> 



155 

;er the communion fervice was over, for the pur* 
)ofe of drinking and gambling ; were in no refpect 
efs wicked than Judas ; and that their end would 
je like his. 

So very pointed a difcourfe engaged the atten- 
jon of the whole congregation ; they were quite 
iftonimed. But it was foon whifpered about, that 
he alehoufe was full of the moft worthlefs fellows 
n the village. Immediately all eyes were fixed 
lpon the lie ward's empty feat ; and then were turn- 
id towarcfs his wife, who could not help remarking 
t, and was fo confufed ftie could not lift up her 
lead. 

The moment the fervice was over, fhe quitted 
:he church ; but a buzzing murmur followed her ; 
And there were fome who got upon the grave-f tones, 
and pointed after her. At laft the noife became 
jlmolt too great for the folemnity of the occafion. 



CHAP. XLIII. 



The Gang disturbed. 



X OOR Dame Collins, overwhelmed with 
fconfufion, haftened home. She threw her prayer- 
book down upon the table, amongft the mugs and 
laffes, and began fobbing aloud. Her hufband 
nd his crew would know what ailed her. 
Wife. You mall foon know ; I wonder what bu- 
fmefs you have here guzzling fuch a day as this ; a 
pack of fellows as you are ? 
Steward. What I is that all ? 



156 

Feasants. Why, dame? how comes it you have 
onlyjuft found it out? 

Steward, I thought at leaft (he had loll her purfe, 
with all her money in it. 

Wife. Yes, you're finely cockahoope : but if you 
had been at church you'd lower your tone. 

Steward. Come don't bellow like a bull, but tell 
us what's the matter. 

Wife. The matter ! why fomebody has certain! 
been telling the parfon thefe fellows were drinkin 
here in fervice-time. 

Steward. What infernal villain has been tellin 
him now ? 

Wife. You great fool ! Do they come down the 
chimney then? Don't they come fauntering down 
the flreet, with their pipes in their mouths, direct- 
ly before the churchwarden's door ? They are good 
enough to fee. The parfon took a rare fwing, I 
can tell you ; and I was pointed at by almoft every 
body in church. 

Stezvard. Now here's another trick this plaguy 
parfon has ferved me ! — What poffefled you to 
come here to-day, you drunken rafcals ? 

Peasants. It was none of our fault ; you fent for 
us. 

Stezvard. I am afraid I did : I found myfelf I 
don't know how, and I could not bear to be alone. 
V/ife. Let it be how it will, it's a great fliame : 
but hark ye, fellows ; get away every man of you 
out of the back-door as fall as you can : and try if 
you can't get home before they are come away from 
the church : and then when they fee you flanding, 
every man before his own door, they'll think the 
parfon has been miftaken. The pfalm can't be o- 
ver yet, but be quick. . 

Steward. Yes, away with you ; quick, quick ; the 
thought's worth a million. 



15 



They were no fooner gone, than fhe began to tell 
him every thing that had happened. How the par- 
ion had talked of the devil entering into the heart of 
Judas ; how he was hanged ; and how all thofe who 
took to drinking and gambling as foon as they had 
taken the facrament, would be ferved in the fame 
manner. He was fo in earned, that he thumped 
the cufhion till he made me tremble again ; and I 
thought verily I mould have fainted away. 

At this recital, the fleward quite alarmed, re- 
mained motionlefs, and unable to utter a word : 
but he fighed deeply, in fpite of his pride which 
had hitherto fupported him under the apprehenfion 
of the difgrace he could not help dreading. His 
wife alked him feveral times what he fighed for ; 
but fhe could get no anfwer. He paced about the 
room for fome time ; and atlaft faid in alow voice : 
" What will all this end in ? What will become of 
me I" — Having tried in vain to quiet his difturbed 
mind, he told his wife to fetch him a compofing 
powder ; and, faid he, If I am not better to-mor- 
row, I'll be let blood. — Having taken the powder, 
he found himfelf a little more calm. 



CHAP. XLIV. 






The EjfeSls of an evil Conscience. 



v^OLLINS now began to tell his wife the 
fate he had had at church. 

Steward. I went, as I hope to be faved, without 
any rancour in my heart ; and I had prayed to God 



158 



to forgive me ray fins : but when the parfon begai 
his fermon, he overturned all my pious thoughts 
and inftead of them, mocking ones came into my 
head, even during the communion-fervice. I could 
not raife my mind to heaven, nor even utter a ugh 
in the way of Amplication: my heart was hardened, 
nay petrified as it were. I can neither defcribe, 
nor mail I ever forget the look he gave me. The 
judge who panes* fentence upon a criminal, and de- 
livers him to the executioner, has not fo terrible a 
look. I fhall never forget the glance of his eye: a 
cold fweat flood upon my forehead ; and when I 
held out my hand to take the bread he offered me, 
'it trembled like a leaf. I had no fooner fwallowed 
it, than I felt my whole bofom burn with rage 
againft the parfon ; my teeth gnamed together, and 
I did not dare look up at him. At that moment I 
was pofTeffed with the moft horrid thoughts : I 
ihook with fear, as I have fometimes done upon 
the appearance of repeated terrible flames of light- 
ning: and I found it as impoffible to drive away 
thcic thoughts, as it is impoffible to avoid feeing 
the lightning when it flames. I fuffered martyrdom 
while I was affifting in adminiftering the cup, and 
Twenty times I thought it would have (lipped out 
• if my hand, it Ihook fo. Amongft others, who 
ihould prefent himfelf but that rafcal Jofeph, in a 
pair of new half-boots; not daring to look me in 
the face: fo much for my half guinea. I almoft 
foamed with rage, to think I fhould never fee my 
money again. Then came Gertrude, with her 
eves railed towards heaven, and then call upon the 
cup ; never once looking at me, any more than if 
1 had not been there. She hates me, curies me, I 
have no doubt; and wilhes me at the devil: and 
yet ihe never once looked at me. After her came 
Leonard, who cad his eyes upon me with humble- 



159 

nefs expreffed in them; as if he had faid: " Col- 
lins, have pity upon me, and fpare me V? and yet 
that fellow would willingly fee me hanged. Next 
came Michael Naggs, making with fear as much 
as I did. Think, wife 1 what i muft have fuffered ! 
I trembled leaft, in order quite to complete m\ 
mifery, John Doughty mould have appeared : if 
he had, it would have been all over with me $ I 
had as much as I could carry already, When I 
got back to my feat fuch a cold fhivering came up- 
on me, I could not hold my book open ; and then it 
came into my head, that Sir James was at the bot- 
tom of all this, and a frefh fit of fury feized me, 
I vowed vengeance ; and fuch thoughts came into 
my head as I never entertained before : fuch as 1 
am afraid to mention even to you ; I tremble when 
they recur to my imagination. 1 will tell you one 
of them : I thought I would difplace the great 
boundary-ftone of the manor, and roll it down the 
hill ; nobody but me knows it is there, nor what is 
the ufe of it. 



CHAP. XLV. 



A Wife tells her Husband truths, but a year too kits 
to have effect. 

IJAME Collins was extremelv affected by 
what her hufband had told her ; but me could give 
him no comfort, and was iilcnt. He had difcon- 
tinued fpeaking fometime before me had courage 
to open her mouth : but at length me determined 
to unburthen her mind. 



160 

Wife. I have been fuffering the pangs of death 
all the time you have been fpeaking. You mud 
abfolutely cut off all connection with thofe fellows 
things are taking a wrong turn, and we are grow- 
ing old. 

Stexvard. You are very right ; but I am afraid i 
is not fo eafy a matter. 

Wife. Eafy or not, you muft refolve to do it. 

Steward. Ah ! you little know how deeply I am 
involved, and how much they know. 

Wife. You know more againft them; they are 
all rogues, and will be afraid to peach : clear your 
hands of them at once. 

Collins iighed ; and his wife continued : 

They do nothing but eat and drink at your ex 
pence ; and when you get fuddled with them, they 
lead you by the hofe. Think only how Jofep" 
tricked you out of your half guinea, no longer ag 
than yefterday. I did all I could to make yo 
hear reafon ; and you know how you received it 
Beiides that, I rolfs five millings out of your waift 
coat pocket ; and no memorandum of it any where 
How is it poifible we mould go on fo ? If, added 
to thefe bad bargains, you reckon the expence we 
live at> you will find wefpend more than we earn 
-and yet you will perfift in living with thefe vaga 
bonds, and all for what? becaufe your develiih 
pride won't let you give them up. One while you 
make a fellow iay j uit what you bid him ; and you 
make another hold his tongue when he ought t 
fpeak ; and what better are you for it ? They ea 
vou up alive ; and at the fame time, if they coul 
play you a dog's trick, you may be fure they woul 
with all their hearts. There was a time when you 
could have managed thefe va'rlets, as you had had 
a mind; but it is no longer fo: and you may rely 
upon it, you will bring; on ruin in your old age, \" 



; 



161 

you don't (hake them off. We are in a very bad 
way ; for no fooner is your back turned, than the 
men quit their work, and afk for liquor ; and I have 
no authority to deny them.' 

During this harangue, the {teward never faid a 
fmgle word : he fat oppofite his wife, in mute afto- 
nifhment. At length he arofe, walked into the 
garden, from the garden to the orchard, then to 
the (table. Agitated by care and uneafmefs, he 
could find no peace any where. Re flopped a fhort 
time in the the liable, and uttered what follows. 



CHAP. XLVI. 



The Effusions of a wicked Mind. 

Stexvard. jhLLL I have juft heard, is but too true : 
but what can I do ? I can never weather the {tor m 
that threatens me I 

He then began railing at Sir James Grant, as if 
he had been the caufe of all his uneafmefs : and af- 
terwards at the rector, becaufe he had touched his 
confcience by his fermon. Next, the idea of re- 
moving the boundary-Hone recurred to him. 

Stexvard. I think I'll not meddle with that curfed 
(tone ; but if I fhould, the Squire would lofe One- 
third of his domain. Yes, certainly ; if Cafferbu- 
ry boundary was to be carried ftraight, inftead of 
making the great angle it does at that {tone, he 
would be finely cut off. But I think I'll not med- 
dle with it. — But after all, it may not be a boun- 
dary. There is no mark of any kind upon it ; and 



162 

nobody remembers its being placed there, though 
there is certainly a tradition that it has been there 
for ages. 

He now returned to the houfe; and taking down 
his regifter, he feemed to calculate, and then write, 
then turn over the leaves; then untie fome papers, roll 
them up again ; read again, lock up his book, and 
pace with haliy lteps up and down the room. 
Then he muttered fomething indiftinclly, about the 
Hone having no number, nor mark. 

Steward. I juft now recollect, to have heard, that 
one of Sir James's anceftors was fuppofed to have 
encroached upon the manor of Canterbury ; and who 
knows but this is the very place? It feems very 
likely on account of that great angle ; for there is 
none other like it any where : and the (lone has no 
mark like the others. If this part does really belong 
to another manor ; fo far from being wrong, it 
is onlv juftice and my duty, to have it reftored to 
its right owner. — But then I may be miftaken.- 
No, I'll have nothing to do with it. I muft remove 
it in the night, and it's very heavy: beiides, 
I fhould have to roll it a matter of fixty yards be- 
fore I could get it to the top of the hill. — If I could 
bury it now ! and fo hide, it forever I — but it would 
take a deal of doing. I can't work at it in the day- 
time ; it is fo near the road, every ftroke of a pick- 
axe would be heard, and for going there in the night, 
I mult needs fay I am afraid. I fhould be frighten- 
ed at every thing that flirred : — if a hare mould but 
run paft me, I mould take it for a ghoft, and 
be feared out of my fenfes. And who knows 
but there may be fuch things as ghofts? and I 
know no place more likely to fee one, than near the 
boundary. No, I had better not have any thing to 

do with it. How comes it ; that there fhould 

be fo many people, who neither believe in ghofts, 



163 

ior in the devil? The old attorney did not believe a 
,vord about it ; and the late rector had not too much 
;aith. As for the attorney, he has told me an hun- 
ired and an hundred times, in all companies ; that 
,vhen once we were dead, it would be all over with 
is, juft as with a dog or a horfe. That was his be- 
ief; and his actions correfponded with it, for 
:ie would ftick at nothing. — Who knows but he was 
right ? — Oh i if I could but once bring myfelf 
;o think fo in earned ; I'd watch for this fine Squire 
it the corner of fome hedge, blow his brains out, and 
hen go and fet fire to the parfon's houfe. — But it 
is all in vain : I have no hope of ever bringing my- 
felf to fuch a belief ; there are too many proofs to the 
contrary ; and I am convinced that thofe who pre- 
tend to it, only half perfuade themfelves, to efcape 
the horror that would attend their dread of future 
punimment. — Confcience ! you fpeak too plain for 
me ; I cannot ihake you off: 

I fee the piercing eye of God 

Both night and day on high ; 
And fliake at his terrific rod, 

That damns my perjury. 

No, 1 will have nothing to do with the Hone ; it 
may flay to all eternity for me. 

His agitation nowincreafed : he fhuddered at the 
thought of God's judgment, which had taken 
poffeffion of his mind. He could not reft quiet in one 
place ; but feemed to wifh to fly from his own re- 
flections. He hurried into the ftreet, and afked the 
firft perfon he met, what kind of weather? which 
way was the wind? whether he remembered a great 
blight about three years before ? and then fcoured 
away without waiting for an anfwer. He next pick- 
ed up a couple of his toping companions^ and offer- 



164 

ed to treat them with ale, if they would but be; 
him company. He fat with them till bed-time ; th< 
took another calming powder: and fo nnim< 
the account of one of the molt facred days, in 
whole year. 



CHAP. XL VII, 



The Joys of a rvell-spent Sabbath. 



I 



rejoice to quit thee for fome time, O hou 
of mifery and terror I my mind was oppreffed, 
dimnefs clouded my eyes, my temples beat, and n 
whole frame, felt the effect of the horror thou infpi 
eft! I leave thee for a time, moft execrable houf 
and as I approach the peaceful refidence of lo 
and virtue ; I find my faculties, and the tranquilli 
of my mind reftored. 

When Leonard and his wife went to churc 
in the morning, they left their children at home : 
who had remained quietly repeating their prayers, 
or finging fuch pfa^ms as they knew, till their 
return. It was Gertrude's cuftom to make them re- 
peat thefe leflbns on a funday evening. She had left 
a particular charge with Louifa, the eldeft girl, to 
look carefully after her little brother James. She 
could not have given her an employment more to 
her mind j and every time fhe took the infant up to 
quiet him, or to put his cradle in order, fhe faneied 
herielf a great woman, and a moft notable nurfe. 
She would then dandle him in her arms, till 
the little monkey crowed with delight ; and indeed, 
the early fenfibility difplayed by an infant, muft 



165 

ive pleafure to every feeling mind. To fee it ex- 

md its little fprawiing hands with inadequate 

fforts, to catch ibrnVtimes a lock of her hair, fome- 

mes her no.e ; and then bound with all its elaftici- 

r upon her knee. The gay funday handkerchief 

ext attracted his attention, till the charms of bo- 

eep with Nicholas and Jenny behind the filler's 

hair, made him fcream with pleafure. Then 

he little difputes, who fhall carefs him mod ; and 

jhe jealoufies, who he loves beft ; which are always 

erminated by Louifa, who will admit of no com- 

etitor. Her care fur him indeed deferved the pre- 

erence ; for {he anticipated all his wants, and 

lways found means to divert the threatened cry. 

>he would tofs him up into the air, as high as 

he could reach ; and then let him fink almoft to the 

jround : fne would fometimes hide his face with her 

land, to fave him from the others; efforts which 

[lever failed to charm him. As interefting a part as 

my of this fcene, was to fee the infant's joy 

he moment its mother appeared : it ftretched out 

ts little arms, and almoft efcaped from its young 

mrfe, who with difficulty retrained it. Thefe 

ivents, fo delightful to the children, were renewed 

jvery funday and holiday while the parents were at 

:hurch ; a fweet recreation for young minds well 

•egulated, pleafmgto the Supreme Being, and em- 

)lematical of the innocent pleafures of their future 

ives fo long as they continue to be good and vir- 

uous. 

Gertrude found, upon her return home, the full- 
:ft reaibn to be fatisfied with her children's con- 
lu6l ; and, on their part, they experienced the fweet 
ielight of receiving the unreftrained commenda- 
:ions of their parents. They hung round their 
: ather and mother with almoft clamarous affection. 
iVothing could furpafsthe delight that both Leonard 



166 

and Gertrude felt from their cardies ; a deligh 
heightened by the foleninity of the duty they ha 
juft been performing, as it had ferved to {often a 
prepare their minds for the mod exquifite part 
of domeftic felicity. A recollection of the man$ 
fundays he had fuffered himfelf to be deprived 
of this innocent happinefs, would now and then ob- 
trude itfelf upon Leonard's mind, and force a tear 
into his eye ; but the furrounding fcene would foon 
difpel them, and leave him completely contented. 
The Almighty, who permits fuch enjoyment to his 
creatures, perhaps contemplates it with pie afar e; 
and confers it as a foretafte of that blifs, which the 
good will know in a fuperior degree, when they in- 
herit his everlafting kingdom. If parents would 
conuderthe reward it is in the power of children toj 
bellow upon them for this care, they would never 
neglect their duty; and it would be well for them 
to reflecl; at the fame time, on the agonizing pangs 
fuch a neglec~l may give birth to. 

With their hearts overflowing with benevolence: 
to their young ones, thefe good parents converfed 
with them upon fubjecls fuitabk to the facred day, I 
They explained to their infant minds the general I 
goodnefs of God, and fome of the particular circum- j 
itances of the Paffion of our Saviour. They attend- 
ed with modeft filence : and the morning palled / 
away with as much fatisfaclion as if they had been 
at fome fhow. In the afternoon the parents wentj 
again to church. As they paffed by the alehoufe on j 
their road thither ; Leonard remarked to his wife, 
the air of confternation that appeared in Collins 
during the morning ferv ice. 

Leonard. I never faw any thing equal to it ! the j 
fvveat ran down his face during the whole of the J 
communion-fervice ; did not you take notice of it? j 
his hand trembled as he prefented the cup. 






167 

Gertrude. No, I did not obferve it. 

Leonard. I really felt for him ; he was in fuch 
:errible agitation. If I had dared, I would have 
aid aloud, "Collins, don't bear me ill-will !" I wifn 
tn opportunity may offer for me to convince him, 
hat I bear him none. 

Gertrude. May God reward you, my dear huf- 
3and, for this good difpoiition towards him 5 a 
oroof that your heart is right. And I would wifh 
y r ou by ail means, to do the Reward any fervice 
:hat may be in your power. But yet, Roughwater's 
poor famiihed children, and many others, cry out 
for vengeance agairrft him; and it will furely over- 
take him. 

Leonard. Poof wretch I I cannot help pitying 
him. It is plain enough to fee, notwithstanding the 
riot that is continually going on at his houfe, that 
he is worn away by care. 

Gertrude. My good man ! I believe you may de- 
pend upon it ; that when a perfon quits the path of 
a virtuous and quiet life, he may bid farewell 
to happinefs. 

Leonard. If I have learnt any thing from expe- 
rience, it is the truth of what you have juft been 
faying. Whatever of wickednefs, the moil zealous 
of Coiiins's aflbciates have been able to accomplilh, 
either by force or by fraud, has never been able to 
procure them one hour's fatis faction. 

By this time they had reached the church ; and 
they were extremely affected by the zeal and en- 
thufiafm, more than common, with which the good 
rector delivered his difcourfe upon the treachery of 
Judas. 



168 



CHAP. XLVIII, 



Thoughts en the habit of Wickedness 



G 



ERTRUDE had heard the rumour that 
ran in the church, of the alehoufe being full of 
drunkards; and told Leonard, who could fcarce 
believe it. 

What ! faid he, during divine fervice, and on a 
facrament funday! 

'Gertrude. Certainly, it is almoft too mocking to 
think of; but there are no bounds to the exceffes 
of a diforderly life. (Leonard's recollections madp 
him figh.) 1 fhall never forget the defcription our 
rector gave us of fin, a long time ago, in one of 
his fermons preparatory to the facrament : he com 
pared it to a lake, that was gradually increafed b 
the rain. The increafe was imperceptible, he faid 
and ftill it proceeded every day, and every hour, 
The water rofe more and more, and the damage 
its overflowing would occafion, was as great, as if 
it fhould be caufed by a fudden tempeft. Some 
few men were prudent enough to examine their 
banks and their drains, in time to ward oif the evil 
effects : but the greater part took no concern till 
the inundation began ; and then if they efcaped im- 
mediate deftruction, they ran about Spreading th 
alarm, but too late to be of any fervice. So it i 
faid the rector, with the progrefs of fin. — I am ftill 
young, but I have had occafion an hundred times 
to remark the truth of the good man's comparifon. 
When a man once gives way to a habit of wicked- 






169 

nefs, his heart becomes gradually hardened, and 
he pays no attention to the progrefs of corruption, 
till it begins to exceed all bounds, and he is 
ried away to endlefs perdition. 



CHAP. XLIX, 



ChUdren of various dispositions, with lessons suita- 
ble to them. 



1 HE foregoing conversation lafted till they 
reached home. The children again flocked round 
them ; and they all clamoured to repeat the week's 
leflbn, profeffing to have it quite perfect. 

Gertrude, How happens it that you are in fueh a 
hurry to-day ? have a little patience. 

Children. O but, mother, if we fay our leffons 
well, you will let us do what we will with our flip- 
pers : won't you? You faid yePierday you would. 

Gertrude. Come, let us hear 'the leffons. 

Children, And after, mother ! 

Gertrude, Well, well ; if you are quite perfect. 

The children began and repeated what they had 
learnt, without milling a word ; and that fmifhed, 
their mother gave them their bread, and their 
bowls of milk with the cream upon it, becaufe it 
was funday. She then retired to a feat at a little 
diftance, to give her infant its fupper ; and while 
it hung at her breaft, fhe iiftened with pleafure to 
the other children's fchemes for the diltribution of 
theirs. Not one of them would venture to tulle 
the bread, nor to dip it in the milk : they were 

Q 



170 

overjoyed, and compared their different portions, 
each exulting in having the biggeft. They finifhed 
the milk by itfelf ; and then Nicholas tripping to 
his mother, and mewing her that he had not touch- 
ed his bread, afked her to give him a bit for him- 
Jelf. 

Gertrude. You have got your mare, my dear, al- 
ready. 

Nicholas. Yes, but I intend to give it to Jack 
Roughwater. 

Gertrude. You are not obliged ; you may eat it 
if you will. 

Nicholas. No, I'll not eat a mouthful ; but you'll 
give me a little bit more, mother. 

Gertrude. Indeed I will not. 

Nicholas. And why ? 

Gertrude. Becaufe you feem to fuppofe it is time 
enough to think of the poor, when you have filled 
your own belly. 

Nicholas. And that's your only reafon ? 

Gertrude. Is not that enough ? — Well now ; 
what will you do with your bread ? 

Nicholas. I'll give it every morfel to Jack. I 
know, poor fellow! he is fadly hungry; and I can 
wait very well till breakfaft to-morrow. 

Gertrude. I am afraid poor Jack will have no 
breakfaft. 

Nicholas. No, poor lad ! I am afraid not. 

Gertrude. Think then, my boy, what poverty 
is ! and learn to defpife that heart, that will not re- 
trench fome thing from its abundance, to relieve 
the wants of others. (Tears came into Nicholas's 
eyes, and Gertrude quellioned the other children.) 
Louifa, fhall you give away your bread ? 

Louisa. Certainly, mother. 

Gertrude. And you, jenny? 



171 

Jenny, Every crumb of it. 

Gertrude. And you, Jonas ? 

Jonas. Yes, I think fo. 

Gertrude. You are good children : but tell me ; 
how do you mean to fet about it ? There is a man- 
ner in every thing; and one may fometimes do 
away the merit of a good a<5t, by an aukward me- 
thod. Tell me, Nic, how lhall you give your 
bread ? 

Nicholas. I'll run as hard as I can, and call Jack ; 
and I'll hold the bread in my hand, that he may 
get it fooner than if I had to pull it out of my pock- 
et. Let me go directly, mother. 

Gertrude. Wait a bit, my man. How do you 
mean to do, Louifa? 

Louisa. O quite different from Nic : I'll call 
Barbara into a fly corner, with the bread under 
my apron ; and then I'll give it her when nobody 
fees me, not even her father. 

Gertrude. And how will you do, Jenny ? 

Jenny. How can I tell where I fliall find Tom ? 
I'll give it him jult as it happens. 

Jonas. Don't alk me, mother : I'll tell you af- 
terwards ; it will make you laugh. 

Gertrude. Well, Mr. Mifchief, you are a wife- 
acre ; we (hall fee how it turns out. — Now you may 
go, my dears: but I muft give you one caution ; 
diftribute your bread as fecretly as you can, for 
fear your charity fhould be taken for oftentation. 

Nicholas. Then I muft put my bread in mv 
pocket ? 

Gertrude. I think you had better. 

Louisa. I faid I would hide mine at firft ; didn't 
I mother? 

Gertrude. You are always cleverer than any body 
elfe, you know, Louifa. I wonder I forgot to com- 
pliment you upon it before, (Louifa blufhed and 



172 

was filent.) Now get you gone, children ; and 
remember what I have faid to you. 

Away ran Nicholas as hard as he could fcamper ; 
and came panting for breath to Roughwater's cot* 
tage : but unluckily John was not before the door. 
He coughed, and whittled, and called ; but John 
neither came to the door, nor appeared at the win- 
dow. 

What mull I do now? faid he ; if I go and give 
him the bread in the houfe, they will fee me : 1* mull 
go and call him out. 

John, with his father, and the other children, 
were feated round his grandmother's coffin ; the 
lid of which was not yet clofed, though {he was to 
"be buried in two hours. The poor man wifhed to 
fee as much of her as he could. They were talk- 
ing, and weeping together, over the conftant affec- 
tion fhe had Ihewn them while {he lived ; and 
were lamenting that her laft moments had been 
made uneafy by the knowledge of John's theft. He 
was endeavouring to make amends, by protefting 
lie would never do fo any more, even if he ihould 
die of hunger. 

Nicholas opened the door, and feeing the dead 
body, he was frightened and ran away. Rough- 
water thought it might be fome meffage from Leo- 
nard, and followed the child, calling out, What do 
you want, Nic ? 

Nicholas, Nothing, nothing; it was Jack I want- 
ed, but he is faying his praytrs. 

Rough-water. No, my boy ; if you want him, 
I'll fend him to you. 

Nicholas. Pr&v do then ; I want to fpeak to him. 

Rough-water* But can't you come in ? It's cold 
here out of doors; and Jack does not like to quit 
his grandmother : come into the houfe. 



173 



Nicholas. No, Roughwater, I can't go in : let 
him come to me here before the door. 

Roughwater. With all my heart. Here, Johnny, 
flep to the door a moment; here's one want's yo i. 

John. Who is it? I have no mind to go out at 
pre lent. 

Roughwater. Never mind ; go : you maybe back 
in a minute. 

When he went to the door. Nicholas beckoned 
him to go a little apart, as if he had fomething to 
fay to him ; and then flipping the bread into his 
hand, he took to his heels. John thanked him, and 
called after him to beg he would thank his father 
and mother. But Nic, turning and running upcn 
his heels, made figns with his hand ; and told him 
not to fay a word to any body : then disappeared 
like a mot. 



CHAP. L- 



The habit of doing evil, dulls the joy of doing good. 



LOUISA marched very deliberately to the 
upper end of the village, in fearch of Barbara 
Trickerman. She found her at the window. She 
beckoned to her, and Barbara flipped out of the 
houfe ; but not unperceived by her father, who fol- 
lowed her, and hid himfelf behind the great door 
of the barn. The children / not fufpecling he was 
there, chattered away. 

Louisa, Do you fee, Barbary ? I have brought 
you fome bread. 

Q2 



174 

She took it wiih trembling hafte. 

Barbara, You are very good, Louifa ; but how 
came you to think of bringing me bread? 

Louisa. Becaufe I love you, Barbara ; and we 
can fpare it now, becaufe father is got into better 
work. 

Barbara. And fo is mine. 

Louisa. Yes, but he is only a day-labourer. 

Barbara. What does that fignify ? he'li get wages 
enough* 

Louisa. I am afraid you are often hungry. 

Barbara. O dear me I yes : but I fhould'nt mind, 
if I thought we fhould be better off now. 

Louisa. What had you for dinner? 

Barbara. I darn't tell you. 

Louisa. Why not ? 

Barbara. If my father fhould get to know, he 
w o u Id 

Louisa. Do you think. I am going to tell him 
then ? 

Barbara. There then look. (She pulled the re- 
mains of a raw turnip cut ei her pocket.) 

Louisa. My goodnefs ! nothing but that? 

Barbara. No, indeed I and we've had nothing 
elfe thefe two days. 

Louisa. And you darn't tell any body; nor aik 
any of your neighbours-^ 

Barbara. Hull) ! for Heaven's fake ! if my father 
iliould hear us, he would fo give it me ! 

Louisa. Eat up your bread then, before you go 
into the houfe. 

Barbara. Yes, I will ; for I mull go in directly. 

She had fcarce 1 wallowed the firft mouthful, when 
the (ly Trickermnn, opening the little door of 
the barn, faid, " What are you eating there, my 
dear ? 



175 

The child, frightened to hear her father's voice, 
gulped the bread, and faid, a Nothing — nothing at 
all father." 

Trkkerman. Nothing ! you little minx ! I'll teach 
you. And you, Mifs Louifa 1 what do you mean by 
coming here with yourfcraps, to teach my children 
to tell lies about what they get to eat? That little 
gipfey Barbara knows we had fome as nice eggs 
and bacon for dinner as ever was feen. 

Louifa fcampered away a good deal fafter than 
file came ; while Trickerman iiauled poor Barbara 
in by the arm ; and her fcreams overtook her friend 
before (lie was out of hearing. 

Jenny found Thomas at the door of his mother's 
houfe, and faid, " Will you have a bit of bread ?" 

Thomas. That's what 1 will, if you have got any. 

Jenny. There ! take it ; you are very welcome. 
Good bye 1 She returned home. 

Jonas kept fauntering about Michael Nagg's 
houfe, in hopes of feeing Judith appear , who at laft 
came running to him. " What are vou doing there, 
Jonas?" 

Jonas. I've a nice bit of fun for you. 

Judith. I'm glad on 't. What.is't? . 

Jonas. Will you do whatever I tell you, Judith ? 

Judith. What mud I do? 

Jonas. Only open your mouth, and fhut your 
eyes. 

Judith. O yes, to be fure \ you'll put fomething 
nafty into my mouth. 

Jonas. No, I won't indeed. 

Judith. Come then ; but now don't play me 
a trick. (She opened her mouth very wide, and only 
iialf fhut her eyes.) 

Jonas. That's not fair ; you cheat. 

Judith. Now then, but none of your tricks. 



176 

He crammed the bread into her mouth, and then 
ran away as faft as he could. 

That's very odd ! faid Judith. 

Jonas, on his return home, related all that had 
pafled, in hopes of exciting the laugh he had pro- 
mifed himfelf ; and he was not difappointed. 



CHAP. LI. 



A good aclion, be it ever so trifling, seldom fails 
to produce a happy effiecl. 

JUDITH'S father had witneffed their child's 
play from the window, and knew who Jonas 
was: The fight affected him. — " "What an infernal 
fellow mult I be 1" faid he : " I have fold myfelf to 
the fteward to bttray Leonard who finds me work : 
and to crown all, here his little boy, like a little an- 
gel, brings bread for my child. — If it pleafe God, 
I'll make him a better return than I intended. 
Ever fmce yefterday that Collins presented me the 
cup, I cannot think of him without a fort of horror ; 
he looked fo like a villain 1" 

So fpoke Michael Naggs ; and he pafled the reft 
of the evening, in reflecting ferioufly on his paft 
conduct. 

When Leonard's children were all affembled at 
home again, they bufied themfelves by relating all 
that had pafled, with great glee ; ail, except Louifa, 
who difcovered uneafinefs, under her aflumed ap- 
pearance of joy. 

Gertrude, Something has happened to you 
Louifa, I am fure. 



1 / / 

Louisa. What could have happened mother ? I 
I'm lure Barbara feemed delighted with her bread 

Gertrude took no more notice at the time : but 
heard her children their prayers, and put them to 
bed. She and her huiband read for an hour after- 
wards in the bible, difcouriing upon what they read: 
and thus concluded the funday evening, with as 
much innocent delight, as it was poflible ior mortals 
to experience. 



CHAP. LII. 



The earliest hour of the Morning, is too late for what 
should have been done over-night. 

V ERY early in the morning, Leonard was 
roufed by iomebody calling at his door, and got up 
inftantly. It was Nimble the gamekeeper, who, as 
he bid him, good-morrow ; told him he had brought 
Sir James's order for the workmen to begin getting 
(tone directly: he faid, he ought to have delivered 
it the night before ; but that he had forgotten it. 

Leonard. According to what I was told, the 
fleward ordered all the labourers to go this morn- 
ing to the Caflle ; but as it is ft 111 very early, I may 
be yet in time to flop them : I'll go and tell them 
directly. 

Grindflone lived almoft next door ; and he 
went firfl to him. But after knocking for fome time 
at the door, he could make nobody hear. At laft, a 
journeyman, who lodged under the fame roof, look- 
ed out of the window, and told him that Grindflone 
was gone above half an hour before, with feveral 



178 

ether men to the caftle. The fteward fent to him 
yefterday evening after fupper, to tell him, and the 
others, to fet off before four o'clock ; that they 
might be back again by noon. 

The gamekeeper was vexed at this report j and 
faid it was plaguy unlucky. 

Leonard. What is to be done ? 

Gamekeeper. Don't you think that I could over- 
take them yet ? 

Leonard. From the top of Gomerfhow, you can 
fee them a mile and an half off; and if the wind's 
that way, they may hear you Ihout. 

Away ran the gamekeeper to the top of the hill j 
and though he could fee them, he could not make 
them hear: they kept marching on, and were very 
foon out of fight. 

The fteward, who was alfo upon the road to the 
caflle, was notfo far advanced ; he heard the game- 
keeper's mouts : and feeing his gun^fparkle in 
the fun, which was jufl rifmg, came back to know 
what was the matter. Nimble told him, that a very 
violent head-ach had prevented his telling the mafon 
over-night, that it was Sir James's wifh for the men 
to begin getting ftone the firft thing in the morn- 
ing. 



CHAP. LIU. 



The more faulty a Man is, the more fault he finds. 

Steward. Y OU worthlefs rafcal ! what a fcrape 
have you got me into now ? 



17.9 

Gamekeeper* Why there's no fuch great harm 
^©ne, mafter Collins ; and without being a conju- 
ror, who could have fuppofed thofe jolly fellows 
would have begun their march fo early ? Was it by 
^our order ? 

Steivard. What do you mean by that, you raf- 
cal ? Do you intend that I mould bear the blame 
af your confounded negligence? 

Gamekeeper. No ; but 1 Ihould be glad of an ex- 
cufe for myfelf. 

Steward. It's plaguy unlucky. 

Gamekeeper. That's exaclly what I faid, when I 
ound they were gone. 

Steward. I'm not in a joking humour juft now, 
thickhead '. 

Gamekeeper. No more am I : but what's to be 
done? 

Steward. Think a little, numfkull ! 

Gamekeeper. It's rather more than half an hour 
too late for me to think to any purpofe. 

Steward. Stop a bit : one ihould never defpair. 
I have juft thought of a plan. You have nothing 
to do, but declare pofitively, that you delivered the 
order laft night to the maibn's wife, or^ to one of 
the children. They'll not be believed when they 
deny it, if you only keep fleadily to your ftory. 

Gamekeeper. I don't like that fcheme, Collins ; 
there's danger in it. 

Steward. It cannot fail, if you are but firm. 
But upon fecond thoughts, I have hit upon another 
plan, that will do better. 

Gamekeeper. What's that? 

Steward. You muft go back to Leonard's; and 
Teeming to be very uneafy, you mult tell him that 
you are in a terrible f crape for having neglecled to 
deliver Sir James's order,. and that it requires only 



180 

a word from him to fet every thing right. That he 
has nothing to do but to tell his honour, he receiv- 
ed the order over night ; but as it was funday, h< 
thought there would be no harm in putting off tell- 
ing them till this morning; and then they wen 
gone. Leonard runs no riik in fo doing ; and it will 
fet all ftrait. 

Gamekeeper, There's fomething in that; I thinl 
it will anfwer. 

Steward. It cannot fail. 

Gamekeeper. Well, your fervant, Mr. Collins ; 
I have fome other letters to deliver : but I'll not 
fail to call at Leonard's by-and-by. Your fervant. 

Steward. Now will I go to the Caftle : and tell 
the ftory as we have fettled it : and if it fhould fail, 
I'll fwear Nimble told me fo. 



CHAP. LIV. 



Labour Lost. 



U: 



PON their arrival at the Caflle, the work- 
men had feated themfelves upon a bench againil 
the barn-wall ; waiting till they were called for, or 
till the Reward mould come and introduce them, 
which he had promifed. 

Martin, the footman, faw them firft, and faid to 
them: "Well, my good friends; what did you 
pleafe to want ? My mailer thinks you are at work I 
at the church." 

Workmen. The fteward told us, we were to come 
and thank his Honour for the job he has given us. 



181 

Martin. It was never worth while ; and I don't 
think he will be very well pleafed : but I'll go and 
tell him you are here. 

Sir James ordered them in directly, and afked 
them very good-humouredly, what brought them 
to the Cattle? 

They told him ; and then mumbled with much 
confufion, a few words of thanks ; which he inter- 
rupted, by alking, who had ordered them to come I 

They anfwered, the fteward ; and again attempt- 
ed their thanks. 

Sir James, It was not my intention, that you 
mould have come. Go back again, my honeft 
friends : keep ileadily to your work ; and I (hall be 
very glad, if this job mould prove of fervice, in 
extricating any of you out of your difficulties. Tell 
Leonard to begin getting ftone to-day without faiL 
Farewell, my friends. 



CHAP. LV. 



An Hypocrite and a Knave, become sworn Friends 



xjlS the workmen returned towards the vil- 
lage, they f aid one to another: " This Squire of 
3urs, is really a good fort of man." — So would the 
->ther have been, faid Rouo;hwater ; if he had not 
:>een milled by a pack of designing rogues, who got 
ibout him. 

^ Bitterbeer. My father has told me an hundred 

imes, that when he was voung, there could not be 

R 



182 

a better landlord ; till fome how or oiher, Collins 
got to him and quite changed his nature. 

Martindale. And then all his good intentions 
were perverted, or only calculated to enrich the 
(lew aid, who led him by the nofe like a muzzled 
bear. 

Grind, tone. Think of that rafcal's fending us 
trotting about the country on a fool's errand, with- 
out fo much as coming to excufe himfelf I 

Plain, pring. It is like one of his tricks. 

Grindstone. And a dog's trick it is. 

Crooks. Whatever you may fay neighbours, the 
fteward is a good fort of a man ; and I know no 
buiiiiefs we have to canvafs all his actions. 

He fpoke this very loud, becaufe he faw Collins 
coming, creeping along a hollow road very near 
them : nobody elfe faw him. 

Grindstone. The devil take the fellow, fay I : 
you may piaifter him as you will; I keep all my 
praifes for Sir James. 

Juli as he faid this, the fteward appeared from 
behind a hedge, and faid: " Good morning, neigh- 
bours! How comes it, that you are ringing the 
Squire's praifes fo highly ?" 

Grindstone. O ! becaufe he received us fo good- 
hunapuredfyj that's all. 

Steward* But I think that was not all you faid, 
Grmditone. 

Grindstone. Yes, I think it was. 

Crook,. Are you not aihamed, Grindllone, to 
or:!, what you had faid a moment before? — He 
was not the only one, Mr. Collins, who had been 
complaining that you had left us in the lurch: but, 
for my part, I laid it was not for us to judge, what 
reaibns a man in your ntuation might have for your 
is:, and then Grindflone faid, I might com- 



mend vou if I would, but that he would keep all 
1 his praifes for the Squire. 

Steward. So then it was roe and my fine mafter, 
vou were comparing together : a good joke 1 

He affected to laugh. 

Some of the othermen murmured againfl Crooks; 
and faid that Grindftone had not fpoken with any 
bad intention. 

Stezvard. There's no harm dene, neighbours; I 
ETrrnot angry: Every one knows "that we fhould 
, praife the bridge that carries us well over." 

So faying, he fhook Crooks cordially by the 
hand ; and only afked, if Sir James feemed angrv. 

Men. No, not at all : he only told us to get back 
direcYly, and fet to work to-day. 

Collins defired they would tell the mafon fo, with 
his compliments ; and that the mifiake was of no 
confequence. He then left them. 

While this was going on, the gamekeeper had 
been ufmg every perfuafion in his power, to engage 
Leonard to fay, he had received Sir James's order 
over-night : and the mafon, who was good-humour 
its own felf, was very deiirous to oblige him ; but 
he could do nothing without confulting his wife. 

Gertrude. I don't like to fay anv thing that is not 
ftriclly true ; and I dare venture to fay, the fleward 
has made no fcruple of excufing himfelf, in this 
manner already. If you will take mv advice, you 
will tell the ftory juft as it happened, if anv quef- 
tions are afked ; but if Sir James fhould fay nothing 
about it, you may let them go their own way, pro- 
vided nobody fuffers by it. 

Leonard. Well then, fo be it, Nimble. 

While they were yet together, the workmen re- 
turned from the Caitle. 

Leonard. I am furprifed to fee you fo foon back. 



184 

Men, We might have fpared ourfelves the trou- 
ble of going, for that matter. 

Leonard. Was his honour angry? 

Men. Not at all : he was very kind and affable ; 
and only told us to get back as foon as we could, 
and to fall to work. 

Nimble. You fee, Leonard, you run no riik ; but 
I and Collins do. 

JRoughwater. Mr. Collins fent his fervice to you, 
Leonard ; and bid us tell you, that the neglect was 
without any bad confequence. 

Leonard. Had he feen Sir James when you left 
him ? 

Roitghxvater. No ; we met him as he was going. 

Leonard. Then he knew nothing but what you 
had told him ? 

Roughwater. I think he could not know any 
more. 

Nimble. I depend upon your promife, Leonard. 

Leonard. Yes, as my wife explained it to you ; 
but no otherwife. 

So faying, he fent the men away ; begging they 
would be back and at work, as foon as ever they 
had dined. He then looked out the tools he mould 
want ; and having got his own dinner, he went to 
meet his labourers. 

Gertrude called after him : " God Almighty 
profper your undertaking, my good man 1" — And 
I fincerely join with her, in praying God to blefs 
the enterprife. 



185 



CHAP. LVI. 



T iie plot thickens: the Stewards nalh are pared. 



OlR James made Collins wait a longtime 
before he lent for him in : and when he came, he 
fpoke croislv to him, faying: "Pray, what good 
reafon could you have for fending thofe poor men 
trotting over here, without any orders? 

Steward. I thought it was my duty, Sir, to fend . 
them to thank you for your goodnefs to them. 

Sir Jame:. Your duty (i am forry you do not 
know it better) is to do whatfoever is conducive to 
my advantage, and that of my tenants ; and not to 
fend a number of poor men upon an idle errand, to 
learn to pay compliments, without benefit to them, 
or anv fatisfaction to me. — But that is not my pre- 
fent bufmefs : I fent for you to'let you know, that 
for the future I mall not let my fiewardlhip, and 
the alehoufe go together. 

Collins was thunderftruck at this fudden refola- 
tion, which came quite unexpectedly upon him. 

S':r James. You mav choofe which ever of the 
employments you prefer, and I give vou a fort- 
night to determine ; but you mall not keep them 
both. 

The fteward had by this time recollected himfelf 
fiiiliciently to thank him for the delay. 

Sir jame.?. I mould be forry to hurry any man 
into a determination of importance, and out of com- 
panion to your age, I will make my determination 

R2 



186 

as eafy to you as i can ; but the two functions muft 
not gO together. 

The fie ward, a little encouraged by his foftened 
tone of voice, laid : " Will it pleafe your Honour 
to confider, that in your grandfather's time they 
always went together; and that it is no uncommon 
thing in other places." 

Sir James. You have heard my determination, 
and it will not be changed. 

So faying, he took out his almanack, and bid 
him remark ; that in reckoning from the prefent 
day the 20th of March, the fortnight would expire 
on the third of April ; on which day he expected 
his anfwer. At prefent, continued Sir James, I 
have no further fervice for vou. — And fo left him. 



CHAP. LVIL 



The rage of a Villain, 



T 



HE fleward, quite ftupefied, and his heart 
almoft burfting fet forward on his return home. 
He was fo overcome by what had juft pafled, that 
he knew nobody that he met about the Caftle. 

There was at the end of the avenue, a large lime 
tree, with a feat round it ; and thither Collins had 
proceeded without well knowing how he got there : 
and there he fat down. 

a Steward. Where am I ? What ails me ? 

Can it befo? Without aligning any caufe of 

complaint I — Without any proof? — Merely becaufe 
it is his will and pleafure, forfooth ! — and I muft 



187 

give up either the ftewardlhip or the alehoufe! — 
This exceeds all bounds. — I doubt whether he can 
do it. — He dare not take the ftewardlhip away, 
without giving any reafon ; and as for the good will 

of the houfe, I bought that. But ftill I am afraid 

if he feeks caufes of complaint, againft me he will not 
be much at a lofs to find them for amongft all thofe 
rafcals whom I have affiftedfo often there is not one I 
can depend upon. — What mud I do ? a fortnight is 
long enough to do plenty of mifchief in ; if I can 
only keep up my fpirits. — That fcoundrel mafon is 
at the bottom of all this. — My fpirits flag fadly. — - 

Juft at this moment he recollected his brandy- 
bottle, and took it off at one draught. 

A murderer, who has heard himfelf proclaimed 
on every fide, and has juft paffed the limits of the 
jurisdiction that has power over him, does not feel 
more relieved, than did the fteward, upon the ap- 
plication of this fpecific. It reftored to him his cou- 
rage and his villany. 

Steward. Upon my life a moft famous cordial ! 
A moment ago, I thought I was going to be fwal- 
lowed up alive : and now I feel as if I could take 
Mafter Trowel and this mife'rable Squire, and 
crack them together, as I would two walnuts. How 
lucky that I did not forget my cordial 1 Without it 
I fhould have fneaked home like a drowned rat. 

After this fpeech, his courage reftored, and 
his fpirits mounting ; he boldly fet forward on his 
walk, brandifhing his knotted cudgel, and fcarce 
deigning to return the falutationof any one he met. 
He was wrapped up in his own felf-confequence ; 
and thought himfelf as good as any Squire in the 
land. To finifh the picture ; you muft fuppofe 
a tolerable allotment of double chin, a pair of fierce, 
ftaring eyes, broad fhoulders, and a portly belly, 
fupported upon two ftout bowed legs. Such was 
the figure of our monfter ! 



188 



CHAP. LVIII. 



A suitable Companion. 



'OLOSE by the fteward's fide marched his 
faithful Turk, which fnarled upon the leafl fign from 
his mafter, and was ready to fn 7 at, and tear any 
man to the ground, at the word of command. This 
huge dog was the terror of the ragged throughout 
the whole neighbourhood ; juft as his mailer was of 
the poor, who once got within his clutches. The 
tremendous bealt marched dole belide him, with 

the fame apparent haughtinefs, and 

But I difdain to carry on my comparison ; even 
between fuch a man and a dog. 



CHAP. LIX. 

A Doubt resolved. 



IT is wonderful, after the horrors of the pre- 
ceding evening, and the alarm of the morning ; how 
the fteward could Hill continue fo arrogant. An 
unexperienced man may wonder ; but any one a 
little read in human nature will know, that pride 
will fpring again in ahaugtymind, in proportion to 



189 

the humiliation it has received. As long as things 
go quietly, the paffions are not agitated; but the 
moment they are roufed, they go fuming on, ac- 
knowledging no bounds: and if I may be allowed 
fo mean a comparison, they are like butter melted 
in a faucepan, which boils till the veffel is too 
fmall to contain it, and it fets every thing in a flame 
around. 

I hope it will not appear flrange, that when once 
Collins had found a remedy for his fears, at the end 
of the avenue ; he mould return to-all his accuftom- 
ed pride and infolence. Belides, till the application 
of this copious dram, he had latterly lived more 
temperately, and his nerves were in fome degree 
reftored to the ftate in which nature had giver* 
them ; for he would have been a man of courage, 
if he had not been a villain. But an evil confcience 
fpoils the beft faculties of man. 

In a word, I relate things as I have feen and 
heard them : ihould any of my readers pronounce 
them improbable, I am forry for, but can flop no 
longer to explain them. 



CHAP. LX. 



A Digression* 



A HE fteward would have ac"led a much 
ivifer part, if he had broken his brandy-bottle at the 
foot of the lime-tree ; and had returned to his 
aiafter, to lay before him the whole of his fituation, 
if he had told him that he was far from rich ; that 



lire 
to 

be 



190 

he had confiderable debts owing to him, and owing 
by him ; that he could not make a iivelihooiwith 
out uniting the two emr-lovments ; and had he pro 
mifod to conduct himfelf wi'h rigid honefty towards 
every body ; I am very f ire, a man of Sir James's 
humanity would not have been fo very rigorous 

But one of the misfortunes of the wicked is ; that 
vice obfcures their reafon to fuch a degree, as 
prevent their adopting fuch meafures as would be 
mod for their inte reft. They ftumble on as if the 
were blind, and halien their own deftruclion. On 
the other hand, men of virtue, and upright conduct 
feem to poffefs their judgment in cafes of difficulty, 
and can often extricate themfelves from misfor- 
tune. One great reafon is, that the virtuous man 
humbles himfelf before God ; and implores that aid, 
in comparifon of which all human wifdom is 
nothing worth. The peace of God, which pafleth 
all underftanding, is his hipport, and his compafs, 
in every action of his life ; and not only contributes 
to his well-being in this world, but prepares him 
for the joy of that which is eternal. 

How different is it with the linn°r! One vice 
hurries on another; his underftanding feems of no 
avail ; he defpifes the path of ftmplicity and virtue, 
which leads to peace ; but follows* the intricate, 
crooked path of iniquity, which leads to mifery and 
defpair. Hence it happens, that in the midft of his 
fuperciHous orientation, he never knows a moment's 
peace. His pride prevents his acknowledging any 
error; and if he mould find himfelf in difficul- 
ties, and want affiftance, he prefers to obtain it by 
fraud, or to ex f ort it by violence ; rather than con- 
defcend to fupplication. His perverted judgment is 
his only guide; and he rejects with difdain the 
foothing, ftiil voice of his celeftial Father ; which 
fays, " Submit to me my fon ; and no longer mis- 



191 



take that apparent rigour, which only chaflifes to 
amend." No, this voice he will not hear; but 
vaunting in his own powers, he favs : " By my 
right hand and my underflanding will 1 extricate 
myfelf." — Hence comes it, that the latter end of 
the wicked man is io full of horror. 



CHAP. LXI. 



The, Authors Exhortation. 

JlrfVER from my youth upwards, I have re- 
flected more and more upon the different fituations 
of the good man, and thefinner. 1 have advanced 
from youth to old age, in the fame village, lhave 
feen mv early companions attain manhood, and be- 
come fathers and grandfather's ; and, except feven, 
who are Hill living, all the others have dropped into 
the grave before my eyes. Gracious Father! thou 
knowelt when my lait hour is to be, when 1 mult 
follow them to the tomb. 

Mv ftrength diminifhes every day ; but my con- 
fidence in thv meicy increal'ts. This life is like the 
power of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow 
withers a way ! O Lord! the fupreme Arbiter of 
our fate! thy mercv is without limit to thofe who 
walk in thy wa\ s ; therefore my foul trufteth in thee, 
and abhorreth the ways of the wicked, which lead 
to deilruction. 

Children of my native village ! my friends ! 
let me affure you that there is no peace for the 
wicked man, no profperity for the evil-doer: and 



192 






let this afiurance guide you to piety and virtue. I 
have feen fome children who have defpifed their 
parents, and fet no ftore by their affection. All 
fuch, without one (ingle exception, have come to 
an unhappy end.— I knew the father of the wretch- 
ed Hanger; I once lived under the fame roof with 
him, and have had many opportunities of feeing 
how that unnatural fon ufed to afflict and torment 
his father ; and I mall never forget the bitter tears 
he ihed for that unhappy fon, when he was upon 
his death-bed. I faw that fon laughing at his 
father's funeral ; and I wondered at God's forbear- 
ance, that he mould let fuch an unnatural creature 
Jive ? "What followed ? He married a woman with 
a large fortune, and became one of the richeft men 
in the parilh ; but, proud as he was wicked, he de- 
meaned himfelf as if he had no fuperior upon earth. 
One Ihort year afterwards, I faw this fupercilious 
Hanger follow his wife to the grave with terrible 
howlings j becaufe he was obliged to reftore he* 
fortune to her family to the laft penny. He was 
thus, in one inftant, reduced to beggary. Rather 
than apply to labour, he had recourfe to theft ; and 
he ended his days at the gallows. 

Children of my native village ! 1 was convinced 
by experience, that the end of the wicked man is 
nothing but horror ! 

But I have alfo witneffed that bleffings and peace 
are inmates of the good man's cottage. He tho- 
roughly enjoys whatever he poffeffes ; he is content 
with a little, and liberal to his poor neighbour, if 
that little is more than he abfolutely wants. La- 
bour and contentment of mind are his lot ; he is 
fatisfied with his own, and covets not the poffeflions 
of another. Pride never difturbs his repofe ; nor 
does envy embitter his frugal meal : he enjoys the 
iperfeclkm of health/and.pafles his days in joy. Bf 



193 



fuch a man the necefTaries of life are more eafify 
attained ; becaufe he applies to labour with all his 
heart ; gives no ear to the allurements of vice, but 
exerts himfelf the more when he reflects, that his 
toil fecures the well-being of the treafures he has 
left at home — his wife, and his fmiling babes. If 
fome clouds mould obfcure his felicity, God's mer- 
cy is at hand to difpel them ; and even in the midft 
of the fevered fufferings, he contemplates the joys 
of that Kingdom which ihall have no end. 

Children of my native village ! O my dear 
friends ! I have witneffed the laft hour of many a 
poor but virtuous man ; and I have never yet feen 
one, who at the hour of death lamented his pover- 
ty, or the mifery he had fuffered. All, without 
exception, bleffed God for the thoufand proofs they 
had had of his paternal goodnefs. O -children of 
my native village ! hold fall to piety, and to the in- 
nocence with which you were born. I know from 
experience that fraud, and deceit, have but a very 
fhort reign. Collins, and his afTociates, were al- 
ways more cunning than us : they knew a thoufand 
tricks of which we had no idea. Buoved up by a 
high opinion of themfelves, they fancied fimple, ho- 
nelt men were only lent into the world to be their 
dupes. They have for a time revelled in the fpoils 
of the widow and the orphan ; and the)' have per- 
fecuted fuch as have not fubmitted to their autho- 
rity. But their triumph is almofl at an end. The 
God of mercy has heard the groans of the opprefled. 
The tears of the mother who lamented to fee her 
family perifh, and the reduction of her hufband in- 
to the paths of vice, have not been ihed in vain. 
The almighty has frowned, and the wicked ihaH 
vanifh from before his face. 



194 



CHAP. LXII. 



The Horrors of an evil Conscience. 

jl\S foon as John Doughty had parted from 
the fteward, after their conversation on faturday- 
night ; he went home : but a troubled eonfcience 
followed him. The thought of having perjured 
himfelf deflroyed his peace ; and he threw himfelf, 
with cries of defpair, upon the ground. He pafled 
the night, and the whole of funday, in tranfports 
of defpair ; tearing his hair, beating himfelf againft 
the wall, and without taking any food. He was 
heard to exclaim, " Oh! oh I the clofe ! Oh! poor 
Rough water ! I feel a fire that burns my entrails ; 
there is a whole legion of devils within me. Oh! 
wretch that I am, what will become of my poor 
foul ! ? ' 

In this manner he ran howling up and down i 
the horrors of his eonfcience ftill purfuing him, anc 1V| 
his cries exprefling the horrible torment he endurL 
ed. Worn out at length by this violent agitation 
on fundav night he got fome reft, and the nex 
morning, finding himfelf a little eafier in his mind 
he refolved no longer to brood over his difturbin! 
thoughts, but to reveal every thing to the rector 
He then made up his funday clothes into a bundle 
together with every thing he had of value ; mean 
ing to fell them, and pay the fteward with the m< 
ney produced ; and then fet off with a packet us 
der his arm to the rectory. 



195 

When he reached the court, he flopped, and 
thought to have returned. Then he went forward 
again ; again flopped, threw his bundle into the 
porch of the houfe, and ftamped about like a mad- 
man. 



CHAP. LXIII. 



Utter Dzspair may be prevented by reasonable 
Advice. 



I HE reclor, who witneffed his extravagant 
geftures from the window, haftened to him, and 
laid : " What ails you, Doughty ? What's the"mat- 
terf Come into my room, if- you have anything 
vou want to reveal." 

He allowed himfelfto be led; and the reclor 
fpoke to him in the moll gentle and foothing man- 
ner. 'He plainly faw there was fomething upon 
his mind ; and befides the report of the village had 
ireached him, that Doughty was raving about his 
perjury. This tender treatment calmed his fpirits 
by degrees ; and at lafl he laid, " Oh ! Sir, I be- 
lieve I have perjured myfelf,- and I am in defpair. 
I can no longer endure the reproaches of my con- 
ference ; and I will fubmit with pleafure to any pu- 
niihment that ma\ be infiicled upon me ; provided, 
I may hope that God will at lad forgive me," 



196 



CHAP. LXIV. 



The Blessing of a good Parish Priest, 

Rec~lor.\¥ you feel a fmcere repentance of your 
fault, do not fear but God will pardon you. 

Doughty. But can I indeed hope, my reveren 
mailer ! that after a crime fo atrocious as mine 
God will pardon me, and receive me into his grace ? 

ReSlor. When God has led a finner to feel a fin 
cere repentance of his crimes, and moll ardently to 
implore forgivenefs ; he has already pointed out the 
road to that forgivenefs, and has given hopes of his 
fpiritual grace. Be convinced of this, my friend; 
and if contrition has taken hold of your heart, doubt 
not of its being acceptable to God. 

Doughty. But how mall I know that he accepts 
my repentance ? 

ReSlor. You may know- by paying a Uriel atten- 
tion to yourfelf ; and if you find it proceeds fmcere- 
ly from the heart, you may then be fure it is accept- 
ed: becaufe the Scriptures affure us that a fmcere 
repentance is never rejected. — Harkye, Doughty^ 
fuppofe a man to have encroached upon his neigh 
hour's field, and that he afterwards repents of it: 
If, before his neighbour is aware of the encroach 
ment, he not only rellores the land, but adds a little 
of his own ; I can have no doubt but God will ac- 
cept that as a fmcere repentance. But, on the 
other hand : if he fhould not reftore what he hatl 



! 



197 

taken, or if in making the reftoration, he has (till 
ibme eye to his own advantage, and wifhes to keep 
the tranfaction fecret : If he only confiders his own 
credit, and is not guided by a principle of juftice to 
the perfon he has injured ; then I confider his re- 
pentance a jeft, and that the foolifh man only de- 
ceives himfelf. — Apply this to yourfelf, Doughty : 
If the fmcere wilh of your heart, is to repair the 
injury you have done, to retrieve your reputation, 
and to make your peace with the Almighty; if 
you have no other dengn, but are ready to do, and 
to fuffer whatever may be neceffary to make the 
ampleft amends, comfort yourfelf; your repentance 
is in earned, and will certainly be acceptable to 
God. 

Doughty. Ah! Sir, I am willing to do any 
tiling that may be required of me, and to fubmit to 
the fevereft puniihment; if I may but be relieved 
from the load that preffes upon my heart. Oh ! 
Sir, it is infupportable ! Let me go where I will, 
the thought of my crime follows me, and torments 
me beyond endurance. 

ReSlor, Take comfort my friend ; conduct your- 
felf for the time to come, with bpennefs and honef- 
ty, and your mind will certainly regain its pe?,ce. 

Doughty. O Sirl my reverend mailer! if I 
could but hope fo 1 

ReStor. Take comfort, I tell you: Place your 
confidence in that merciful Being, who is the God 
of repentant fmners : and determine to do every 
thing you can to make amends. The greateft evil 
attending your perjury, is the deplorable Hate to 
which it has reduced poor Roughwater : but 1 hope 
when you have revealed all the circumftances to 
Sir James Grant, he will affift in reftoringthe poor 
man to his right. 

S2 



198 

Doughty. Ah 1 poor Roughwater ! the thought 
of him diftra&s me : And do you think, Sir, Sir 
James can help to get him his clofe again ? 

Rector. I can't be quite lure : the fteward will 
do every thing in his power to invalidate your de- 
pofition ; but on the other hand, I am fure Sir 
James will exert himfelf to the utmoft, to dojuftice 
to the poor man. 

Doughty. Oh ! If it can but be brought about 1 

Redlor. I moft fmcerely wifh it may ; and I have 
great hopes of it : but at all events, it is equally 
necejTary for the repofe of your confcience, that 
you ihould reveal every thing you know to Sir 
James. 

Doughty. That I moft undoubtedly will, an 
with all my heart. 

ReStor. You are in the right road ; and I 
much pleafed to fee you determine fo readily : it is 
the only way to reftore tranquillity to your mind. 
I mull at the fame time acknowledge, that your 
confeflion will expofe you to public fhame,to prifon 
and perhaps to fevere corporal punifliment. 

Doughty. All that is nothing, my kind, reverend 
Sir i in comparifon of the terrors of my confcience, 
and the dread of being for ever deprived of the 
grace of God ! 

Reelor. You have fo proper an idea of your un- 
happy fituation, that it gives me real joy. Pray 
heartily to God, (who has infpired you with fuch 
thoughts) that he would be graciouily pleafed 
to confirm you in the right way ; and with his aflift- 
ance you will be able to fupport every trial you may 
be put to, with humility and patience. Let what 
will happen, if you will only place confidence in me, 
I will affift you to the very befl of my ability. 

Doughty. O my good, dear Sir, how charitable 
you are to a poor fmner like me ! 



199 

ReSlor. God himfelf, my friend, is to us the ef- 
fence of comfort and charity, in all he does for us ; 
and I mould be a very unworthy fervant of fo mer- 
ciful a mailer, if I could treat a fellow-fufferer with 
harfhnefs^. let his crimes be everfo enormous. 

Such was the kindnefs and paternal affability 
with which the good redlor talked to Doughty ; 
who fried a torrent of tears, and was for a time un- 
able to utter a word. At laft he broke filence, and 
faid: " Sir, I have frill fomething elfe to tell you." 

Rector. What is it ? my friend. 

Doughty. Ever fince this unhappy affair, I owe 
the fteward twenty {hillings. It is true, he offered 
the other day to tear my note, but I will not be be- 
holden to him : I am refolved to pay the debt. 

Rector. You are perfectly right : and I would ad- 
vife you to do fo, before any thing is faid to 
Sir James. 

Doughty. I left a bundle in your entry, with my 
funday coat, and fome other few things ; which I 
think may be worth altogether about twenty fhil- 
lings : I mull give them in pawn. And I hoped, per- 
haps, you would not be offendecj, reverend Sir, if I 
afked the favour of you to lend me the money upon 
them. 

Rector. I never meddle in fuchtranfa6lions, and 
I have unwillingly refufed many a man who has ap- 
plied to me upon fimilar occafions ; but your's is an 
extraordinary cafe, and I will oblige you. 

So faying, he furnifhed him with the money ; bid 
him carry it immediately to the fteward, but by- 
no means to leave his bundle. 



200 



CHAP. LXV 



Delicacy of Sentiment^ is not always confined to ti 
higher Orders of Society. 

U OUGHT Y, trembling with anxiety, to< 
the twenty (hillings, thanked the rector over ai 
over again ; but pofitively refufed to take the bund'k 

Reclor. Well then, (fmiling) 1 mud fend fome- 
body to your home with it, if it is too heavy for you. 

Doughty. Oh! dear, good Sir, pray keep it, till 
I can repay you your money. 

Reclor. No, my friend ; I have no uneafmefs 
about it. Go, and attend to things of greater im- 
portance. I will write immediately to Sir James, 
and to-morrow you (hall carry the letter. 

Doughty. I thank you a thoufand times, dear 
worthy Sir ; but I dare not take the money, unlefs 
I may leave the bundle ; indeed, I dare not. 

Reclor. I defire you would fay no more about it ; 
but go directly to the Reward's, pay your debt, and 
come here to-morrow morning about nine o'clock. 

Doughty quitted the parfonage in a very differ- 
ent ftate from that in which he entered it, and wenl 
directly to the Reward's. 

Not finding him at home, he paid the money tc 
his wife; who alked him how he became fo rich al 
of a fudden ? 

Doughty. No matter how : but God Almighty 
be thanked 1 I've paid my debt. 

Wife. Why ! has any body a&ed you to pay it 



201 

Doughty, Oh no I but that was fo much the 
rorfe. 

Wife. You talk very ftrangely, Doughty ; what is 
lie matter with you ? You're wonderfully altered 
flate. 

Doughty. If I am, I think I need not tell you the 
eafon ; for if you don't know it now, you foon will. 
3ut fee if the money is right, for I can flay ho 
onger. 

She counted the money, and found it right. 

Doughty. Be fure now to give it to your hufoand: 
pour fervant, Mrs. Collins. 

Wife. Well, if you mud go in fuch a hurry, good 
tye to you, Doughty. 



CHAP. LXVI. 



Superstition depends upon Education. 

-£**S the He ward was returning from the 
cattle, he (topped at the Swan at Newbybridge. 
His fpirits being already raifed by his brandy-bottle, 
he -made no fcruple to drink and chatter with fome 
countrymen he found there. He talked of the fuits 
he had gained ; of the influence he had over the late 
Squire ; and how, by means of that influence he had 
kept all the country in fubjection ; but that now, 
every thing was turned topfy-turvy. He then gave 
his dog a mefs, that would have fatisfiedthe hunger 
of a labouring man ; and obferving one of the com- 
pany, who feemed to eye the meal with envy; 



202 

he faid with a fheer, " What ! I warrant now you 
would have no objection to fuch a dinner your* 
felf? Poor Turk 1 thou art heartily welcome,v 
my honeft fellow i" 

After this he continued to boaft, and to drink till, 
evening. 

About this time the Squire's old woodman arri- 
ved; who, upon his return from the caftle, called in 
to take a draught of ale. The lie ward, who never 
could bear to be alone when it grew dark, prcpofed 
to bear him company to the village. " With all my 
heart," faid the other, " providedyou fet off direct- 
ly j but I am in purfuit of a wood-ftealer, and can- 
not ftay a minute." 

I am ready now, replied the fleward. — So faying, 
he finilhed his liquor, paid his reckoning ; and they 
went away together. 

As they walked along, the fleward afked his 
companion, whether he was not afraid of meeting 
ghofts in the woods at nights. 

Woodman. What makes you afk fuch a queftion ? 

Steward. Why? becaufe I think there muft be a 
good deal of danger. 

Woodman. What an old fool you muft be ! You, 
who have been fleward thefe thirty years, to take 
fuch fancies ! I wonder you are not aihamed 
of yourfelf ! 

Stexvard. That may be: but I proteft I don't 
know whether to believe in ghofts or not. It's very 
certain, however, that I never faw one, 

Woodman. Harkye ; fmce you talk fo openly; 
I have a mind to give you fome information : but 
remember now, Ifhall expect a pot of beer in return.. 

Steward. Marry, and you (hall have it ; or even 
two inftead of one, if you talk to the purpofe. 

Woodman. I have been now a woodman for- 
tv vears : and I was fcarce four rears old when 



203 



j: jmy father firft made me follow him to the 
Woods. He had always a terrible collection of To- 
ries of ghofts and hobgoblins, which he ufed to re- 
late to the countrymen in the alehoufes, merely to 
frighten them from going amongft the woods at 
night: But to me he ufed to hold a very different 
Language. As he intended that I mould be one day 
a woodman like him, he ufed to point out the ab- 
furdity of fuch tales, and laugh me out of the belief 
of them: He ufed alfo to take me with him through 
the woods, in the darkeft nights, and in the worft 
feafon of the year, when the wind howled, and 
made every thing fhake about us. If he faw any 
fire, or the leaft glimmering of light, or if he heard 
any noife ; away he ufed to go directly to the fpot, 
taking me with him through bog, through briar, 
over hedge and ditch ; and when he came to the 
fpot, whence the noife, or the light proceeded, if 
he found a company of gypfies, or fome poacher, or 
wood-ftealer ; he would roar out in the moil terri- 
ble voice he could affume : U Fly rafcals ; get away 
as fail as you can, or you are all dead men." And 
in this manner, he would fet them all running hel- 
ter-fkelter, even if there had be,en twenty of them, 
leaving their pots and their pans and all their bag- 
gage behind them ;. that you would have thought 
they had feen him at the head of a troop of horfe. 
Sometimes the noiles we heard only proceeded 
from fome animal, many of which will at times ut- 
ter unaccountable founds. And for the lights, 
which were enough to terrify thofe unaccuftom- 
ed to them, they often proceeded from nothing 
but the phofphorous of rotten wood. In the whole 
courfe of my life, I have never feen any thing more 
frightful than what I have juft mentioned : but : t is 
for my intereft to make my neighbours believ in 
ghofts and witches ; for I am growing old, and I fen 



204 

very willing to be excufed from trotting through 
the woods in cold, ftormy nights, in purfuit offuch 
as may be difpofed to dellroy the game, or rob th$ 
woods. 



CHAP LXVII. 



Wicked thoughts restrained bij foolish Fears. 



1 HE woodman was by this time arrived at 
the crofs road that led to the fore ft ; fo he parted 
with the fteward, who continued his walk to the vil- 
lage, ruminating upon what he had heard. 

Steward. He has been a woodman for forty years, 
and neverfawa ghoft; and does not believe there is 
fuch a thing. And I like a great fool ! am fo much 
afraid of them, that I dare not be alone a quarter 
of an hour in the night ; for it would take me no more 
time to remove the ftone. Like a real thief, and a 
rogue he wants to take away my licence; and that con- 
founded ftone, that I almoft think I can fee from 
where 1 am, is, perhaps, no boundary after all : 1 
really donH believe it is. — But even fuppofmg it is; 
he has no more right to his land, than I have to m\ 
alehoufe. — Nothing but the devil himfelf could 
have put it into his head to deprive me by force ol 
my right ; and if he has no fcruples about injuring 
me, why mould I hefitate about this curfed ftone \ 
I only want a little courage: But I cannot gc 
at night ; and if I go by day, I am fure to be feen. 

Talking in this manner, he reached the tof 
t f Gomerlhow; from whence he could plainly dif 



205 

rover the mafon and his labourers, getting up the 
large loofe fronts, that were fcattered up and down. 
The day was almoft fpent ; but they flill kept work- 
ing with great perfeverance ; and fuch an appear- 
ance of induftry, was gall to the fleward's wicked 
heart. 

Steward. There feems to be a general combina- 
tion againfl me : all my plans feems thwarted ! And 
now, to add to my uneafmefs, I {hall be obliged to 
pafs clofe by that raical Jofeph, without daring to 
fay any thing to him. — But that will be impoinble ; 
I had rather wait here till they leave work, which 
they mud do foon. 

He fat down ; but getting up again direcllv, 
he faid : " I cannot bear the fight of them, even at 
this diftance ; I'll go behind the hill. — O that curfed 
Jofeph !" 

He went a few paces back, and then fat down 
where he could not fee them. 



CHAP. LXV1II. 



The glory of the setting Sun, has no charms for the 
wicked Man. 

1 HE fun, jufl before it difappeared, cafe its 
laft rays upon the bank where Collins fat. The 
plains, and the foot of the hill, were already in the 
fhade. — Who can defenbethe glory of afetting fun, 
in a bright and calm evening! — Even Collins con- 
feffed its power ; but he exhibited no other figns of 

T 



206 

it, but a filent and ftupid aftonifhment as it difaj 
peared behind the mountains. 

" Now all is dull, and night afiumes her reign 
darknefs overfhadows my foul, and not a ray re- 
mains to cheer iti" 

This fentiment patted in the fte ward's mind : an< 
was fucceeded by fuch a panic, that his teeth chat- 
tered, and he trembled from head to foot ; infteac 
of recommending himfelf humbly to that Power, 
who could protect him from every danger, and 
whofe command the fun, recommences its bright 
career. Unhappy wretch I Miferable ftate of wick- 
ednefs ! 

The village clock had given the fignal of retreat 
to the workmen, each of whom retired to his own 
home : and Collins followed at a diftance. 



CHAP. LXIX. 






The Way to obtain Good-will. 



D 



URING the firft day's work, Leonard had 
contrived to conciliate the good-will of his fellow- 
labourers. Ke wrought with them the whole day, 
and worked harder than any-body. He fixed upon 
the hardefl Hones to move, and let no difficulty 
check him. Many of the workmen were unufed to 
the bufmefs ; but he pointed out to them the readi- 
ell way to fet about it, and never exprefTedthe leafl 
impatience at their aukwardnefs. The expreffions 
of fool and blockhead never efcaped him ; though 
to be fure there were many occaiions where they 



207 

[might have been applied without injuftice. His pa- 
Itience and his induftry encouraged his fellows ; and 
[all went on fwimmingly. 



CHAP. LXX. 



Man is not always uniformly wicked, 

IVJLICHAEL Naggs, was one of the moft in- 
telligent amongft the workmen, and had happened 
to be almoft all the day near Leonard ; which had 
given him an opportunity of remarking the extreme 
kindnefs with which he had treated every one, even 
the moft untoward. This Michael, who was at the 
bottom a thief, and a confirmed vagabond, was 
neverthelefs fo affected by the mafon's goodnefs, 
and gentlenefs ; that he could not find in his heart 
to play the rogue with fo good a manl As for 
Crooks, and the pious Trickerman, they were not 
perfectly fatisfied, that no diumclion mould be 
made between the workmen; and that even the 
worthlefs Michael mould be treated with kindnefs. 
And Grindftone muttered, that the man was a fool 
for employing any but fuch handy fellows as him- 
felf and his brother ; for that with fuch hands the 
work would be done in half the time. Moft of 
them, however, were grateful to Leonard for his 
gentlenefs and good example ; and fome offered up 
a fecret prayer to the Father of all mercies, who 
had placed a mafter over them, whofe heart was 
capable of pity towards the ignorant and helplefe, 




208 

,. 

Michael could not fupport the recollection of the I 
contract he had entered into the faturday before \\ 
with the Reward; io he whiipered the mafon as 
they returned from work, and told him he had a ;| 
fecret to reveal. 

Well then, faidthe other, go home with me. 

As foon as they arrived at the cottage, he told 
him how the fteward had bribed him with five {hil- 
lings into a plot againft him. 

Leonard was quite confounded, and Gertrude 
could fcarce recover from her grief and aftonifh- j 
ment. 

This is mod fcandalous work ! faid the hufband; 
— Moil abominable ! faid the wife. 

Naggs. Boivt let it difturb you, mailer ; nor you 
neither miftrefs: fori proteftl cannot find in my con-' 
fcience to do either of you any harm; and you may 
depend upon it I never will. 

Leonard. Thank you, Michael; but I cannot 
think what pofTeffes the Reward ! I amfure I never 
did him any harm. 

Naggs. Why, he is a very devil ; and it is not in 
the power of man to conceive what a favage he is, 
when he is angry, and wants to be revenged. 

Leonard. I tremble almoli, at the bare mention 
of his name. 

Gertrude. And I am almoft fitk. 

NaggSi Come, don't be children; his courage is 
almoit out. 

Leonard and Gertrude. God be praifed ! God 
Almighty be thanked ! 

Naggs. Harkye: we will arrange this matter as 
is moft agreeable to you. If you have a mind, I will 
perfuade the fteward that I am dill faithful to him ; 
and either to-morrow, or the day after, I can take 
away forne of the tools, and carry them to him. 
Then, Leonard, you can go to the Caftle, and ob- 



209 

tain aa order to fearch all the houfes ; and when you 
get to Collins's, march boldly into the back cham- 
ber, and there you will be fure to find what you are 
in fearch of. But you muit take fpecial care to be 
fudden in your motions : for if you don't get ad- 
mittance the moment you knock, all will be loft: 
for he is fo cunning, he is capable of conveying the 
things away, where we mould never find them; and 
if you hefitate a moment, you will get into a fine 
fcrape. But if you will take my advice, you will em- 
ploy fome other perfon in this bufinefs, for you are 
too mild and gentle to execute it well. 

Leonard. I don't know as to that ; but I am fure 
I mould not like to engage in it. 

Gertrude. I think, Michael, it is more our duty 
to thank God, that he has been pleafed to deliver 
us from the danger that threatened us, than to con- 
trive fnares to catch the fleward, and revenge our- 
felve?. 

Naggs. It is no more than he deferves; fo don't 
have any fcruples. 

Gertrude. I am afraid we are not proper judges 
of what he deferves ; but there is one thing certain, 
that vengeance does not belong to us ; and we mud 
follow the road that we know to be right. 

Naggs. I cannot help confeffing the truth of what 
you fay, Gertrude ; any more than I can help admir- 
ing the command you have over yourfelf. Let us 
leave him then to the punimment he will meet with., 
and have nothing more to do with him. For my 
part, I am determined to tell him I am no longer 
the man for his purpofes ; and would return him his 
money, but unluckily 1 have fpent ten-pence of it: 
and I know not whether it would be better to take 
him thefe four millings and two-pence, (pulling 
them out of his pocket) or to wait till the end of the 

T 2 



210 

week, when I fhall have my wages, and can pay hi 
all together. 

Leonard. I'll lend you the ten-pence with all m 
heart. . 

Naggs. If you would be fo good, I fhouldbe de 
lighted to have done with the fellow . at once : 
1 wifh. to carry him his money this moment ; for I 
affure you, mafter, ever fmce yefterday, at the Holy 
Sacrament, this affair has been a load upon my 
heart. I was miferable to feel engaged in fo wicked 
a plot ; and when your little Jonas came in the even- 
ing, and gave his fupper to my child, my confer- 
ence fmote me with double violence ; that I fhould 
injure fo good a man. I never faw much of you 
before to-day, Leonard : but I could not help re- 
marking when we were at work together, hew 
kindly you behaved to all the labourers, advifmg 
one, and affifling another; and I felt confeious that 
I could never hope for falvation, if I returned evil 
for fo much good. (Here the tears came into his 
eyes.) You may believe me or not, as you like. 

Leonard. I do believe yon, my friend; and 
I hope you will always be a good man. 

Naggs. With the help of God, I hope 1 fhall. 

Gertrude. Do, good Michael ; and be fure you 
will find your account in it, both here, and hereafter. 

Leonard. Do you wifh then to return the money 
to-night ? 

Naggs. Certainly, if I can. 

The mafon gave him the ten-pence ; and begged 
he would return it without anger or reproach. 

Gertrude. And don't tell him that we know any 
thing about the matter. 

Naggs. I will cut the bufmefs as fhort as poffible. 
I will go directly, and Ihall foon have done. Fare- 
well. Gertrude ; good-by, Leonard: a thoufand 
thanks to you, I wifh you both a gGod night. 






211 



Leonard. Talk to him in the fame manner. Good 
[night, Michael. 



CHAP. LXXI. 



The Plot Thickens, 



W 



HEN Collins got home, he found his wife 
alone in the room. This gave him an opportunity 
of venting all the rage he had been brooding over 
the whole day. Upon the road, at the Caftle, and in 
the public-houfe ; it would have been imprudent to 
difcharge his bile : he was too cunning to expofe 
the fecrets of his mind before witneffes. A fteward 
who cannot govern his paffion, is quite unfit for his 
office: and in this refpecl; our rogue was very per- 
fect. He could affume the mafk mod perfectly ; and 
in his cups, his familiar converfation, and his fquab- 
bles, he could difguiie the enyy, hatred, malice, 
and refentment that agitated him. But, no fooner 
was he returned home ; if, by good or ill fortune 
he chanced to find no llranger, he would give way 
to all the fury, which was become more violent, 
in proportion as he had taken pains to fupprefs it. 

His wife, who fat crying in a corner of the room, 
conjured him, in the name of every thing facred, to 
moderate his paflion ; alledging that it would only 
ferve to initate the Squire, if he mould chance to 
hear of it, and would induce him to continue his 
persecutions to the utmoft. 

Steward. I defy him 1 I know his malice will 
have no bounds : I know he will never (lop till he 



212 

II 

has totally ruined me j villain, fcoundrel, and infer- 
nal dog as he is ! 

Wife. Gracious Heaven ! have mercy upon met | 
How you rave ! Are you quite mad ? 

Steward. Have I not reafon? Do you know that 
in a fortnight he means to take away my licence, or T 
depofe me from the ftewardfhip ? 

Wife. I know it very well: all the village knows 
it already ; for the Squire's clerk told it to the fore- j 
man, and he has been telling the flory to whoever had | 
a mind to hear it. I did not know any thing about 
the matter, till I went to water the cows : and then 
I did not meet a creature but what laughed in my 
face. At laft I met Margaret, andlhe told me the 
whole flory. But this is not all : for John Doughty 
has brought back the twenty fhillings. Where he i 
could have got them I can't tell ; but I fufpecl Sir ! 
James is at the bottom of it all ; and I tremble at 
the horrible black ftorm that is brewing over our 
heads. 

Here fhe burfl into a frefh flood of tears. 

Collins was thunderftruck at his wife's words — 
" Doughty has brought back his twenty shillings / >J 
He remained for a time motionlefs j his eyes hag- 
gard, his mouth a-jar, looking with vacancy upoi 
his wife. At laft he cried out, " Where is the mo- 
ney ? where are the twenty fhillings?" 

His wife placed them on the table before him, ii 
a broken glafs ; and he fixed his eyes for fame tim< 
upon it, without touching it. 

Steward. That comes none from the CafUe. 
-The Squire never pays in money of different forts, as 
that is, I am very glad it does not come from the Caf- 
ftle. But flill there is fome myftery in all this ! You 
mould not have taken the money : why did you \ 
You fhould have queflioned him well, and have 
found out where the money came from, 

m 



213 

Wife. I did think of doing To ; but he would not 
top : and L doubt whether you yourfelf could have 
nade any thing of him, he was to fhort and crufty ! 

had not time to fay a word. 

Steward. Every thing confpires againft me : i 
mow not which way to turn my f elf. I am quite con- 
minded: give me a mug of beer. 

The wife placed the liquor before him ; while Ire 
overborne by fury, {lamped up and down the room, 
cuffed and blew, then drank ; and atlaft faid, " I am 
determined to ruin the mafon, that's fiat : aye, if it 
mould coil me ten pounds to do it, or moie, Mi- 
chael's the lad for that : and then I'll attack the 
boundary ftone." 

Juft as he fpoke, Michael knocked at the door. 
Collins, who was in a {late to be frightened at every 
noife, trembled. 

Who can it be that comes fo late ! And he ran to 
the window to fee. - 

Open the door, cried Michael. 



CHAP. LXXfl. 



The Steward has not one shift left, 

L HERE never was any thing happened 
more fortunately 1 faid Collins ; as he opened the 
door. " Good evening, Michael: you are right 
welcome : what good news do you bring?" 

Naggs. Nothing material ; I am only come to 
tell you 

Steward, You don't pretend to ftand talking at 



214 

the door : I Ihan't go to bed yet awhile. Come in 
and fit you down. 

Naggs. I mull go back directly, Collins ; I onl 
came to tell you that I am extremely difiatisfie 
with our faturday's bargain. 

Steward. High day ! this is a pretty ftory ! 
Courage, man ; you have no reafon to repent.—* 
But if I have not given you quite enough, I can 
ealily mend the matter. Only come in without fo 
much entreaty ; and we fhall foon be agreed. 

Naggs. No, not for fifty pounds, Collins ! There, 
take your five (hillings back again. 

Steward. Not I indeed : you took them, and 
you muft keep them. Come, Michael, don't be a 
iimpleton : you ihall have no caufe to repent of your 
bargain. And I tell you once more, if five (hillings 
are not enough, you have nothing to do, but to 
come with me into the houfe, and— 

Jtfaggs. I can Hay no longer, Collins : there's 
your money. 

Steward, I'll be d n'd if I take it at prefent; 

now I have fwormit : fo come in without more ado. 

Naggs. If that's all, can ealily ftep in. (He 
went in the houfe.) Now I am in your room ; and 
there is your money upon the table. Good night, 
JMafter Collins : fare you well. 

So faying, he flipped out of the room and difap- 
peared. 



215 



CHAP. LXXIII. 



The Landmark. 



V/OLLINS remained for a time fpeechlefs : 
nis eyes rolled in his head; he foamed at the 
mouth j he trembled ; he ftamped about : and at 
aft called to his wife : " Bring me the brandy-bot- 
le : itis refolved: I'll go this inftant." 

Wife. Where then t where do you mean to go 
in this dark night ? 

Steward. I will go : I am refolved nothing 
hall flop me. I'll remove the Hone. Give me the 
brandy. 

Wife. For Heaven's fake, think what you are 
about I 

Steward. No matter ; go I will, that's flat. 
Wife. It is fo dark, you cannot fee your hand 
before you I It's almoft midnight ; and befides it's 
Holy Week, when the devil is more mifchievous 
than common. 

Steward. In for a penny, in for a pound : give 
me my bottle, and I'll be off. 

So faying, he took a pickaxe, a fpade, and a gav- 
lock upon his moulder ; and notwithftanding the 
darknefs, he hurried away towards the mountain, 
in order to remove the ftone that marked the boun- 
daries of the lordfliip. He was already heated with 
liquor, and inflamed with rage, which made him 
valiant. Still at the motion of every leaf, and at 
every found, he muddered : but preffmg forward, 



216 

he reached the boundary, and began immediately 
to hack, and dig round it to get it loofe. 



CHAP. LXXIV. 



Darkness, and the night, ill suit an evil Conscience, 

W HILE he was thus occupied, he heard a 
noife that alarmed him ; and all of a fudden a black 
man appeared behind him amongil the bullies. His 
figure ihone amidft the darknefs of the night, and 
a flame proceeded from his head. It immediately- 
occurred to the fteward, that it mufl be the devil in 
perfon : and thereupon throwing down his tools, 
and leaving his hat, and his empty brandy -bottle 
upon the ground, took to his heels, without ever 
looking behind him, roaring for mercy. 

The apparition was nothing but Barwell the 
poulterer, who was returning from his village 
round, where he had been buying eggs. The 
bafket which he carried upon his head, was cover- 
ed with a black goatfkin ; and he had tied his lan- 
thorn upon his head, to guide his Heps. 

The cock-merchant, or poulterer, knew the 
Reward's voice, and concluding he was about fome 
mifchief, had a mind to frighten him. " The rogue 
takes me for the devil," faid he, " I'll encourage 
the belief." 

At the fame inftant he put his bafket upon the 
ground, and making a bundle of the tools, and his 
own ferreled flick ; he fet off after Collins trailing 
them upon the ftonyroad with a terrible noife; and 



217 

bawling out in the hoarfeft voice he could aflfume : 
" Phe, Phoa, Phum. You are mine. I have vou, 
Collins !" 

The poor fteward ran with all his fpeed, roaring 
out in a raoft lamentable manner : " Help ! mur- 
der ! For God's fake help I am a dead man ! 
Watch ! The devil is at my heels, and will carry 
me away I" The poulterer ftill followed him, with 
his Phe ! Phoa ! Phum ! Collins ! I have you ! You 
can't efcape Phe ! Phoe ! Phum ! 



CHAP. LXXV; 



The Village alarmed. 



T: 



HE watch heard the noife from the moun- 
tain, and could even diftinguiih the words ; but he 
was feized with a panic, and began knocking at fe- 
veral of the windows, and calling out: " Rife, rife, 
neighbours ; get up directly, for there is a moil ter- 
rible hurly-burly on the mountain. One would 
fwear the devil was flying away with the fteward. 
Hark I how he roars, help ! help ! — And yet it is 
very odd ; for he muft be at home all the time : it 
is net above two hours fmce I faw him there." 

As foon as about ten of them were afTembled, and 
had lighted fome torches, and well loaded their 
guns ; they refolved to proceed towards the place 
from whence the noife proceeded. But firft, each 
furnifhed his pocket with a piece of new bread, and 
a prayer-book ; to ferve as a charm againft the 
devil's power. 

V 



218 

Thefe precautions taken, they began their march 
Hopping at the Reward's houfe, to be refolved whe- 
ther he was really at home, or not. His wife, who 
in the utmoft confternation, waited the iffue of his 
expedition to the mountain, was extremely alarm- 
ed at the buftle me heard in the village, and at the 
appearance of a troop of countrymen armed with 
guns and torches, knocking at the door. She ex- 
claimed, w T ith the greateft anxiety, " What, in the 
name of Heaven, brings you here?" 

Send your hulbatid here directly, faid they. 

Wife. Alas ! he is not at home: but for God'j 
fake tell me what's the matter ? 

Peasants. The worfe luck's his, if he is not in 
the houfe.— Mark * you may hear him crying for 
help, as if the devil was at his heels 1 

This faid, they went forward, the wife follow- 
ing ; of whom the watch inquired what Collins 
could be doing on the mountain at that time of 
night? It is not more than two hours fince I faw 
him at home. — She anfwered not one word ; but 
fobbed piteouily, while the Reward's great dog 
chained in the yard kept a continued barking. 

As foon as the poulterer faw the troop approach- 
ing, to reicue the poor frightened Collins, and 
heard the dog barking fo furi crafty- .; he thought it 
prudentto decamp. So turning round, he flipped as 
quietly as he could to the fpot where he had left his 
baiket, placed it upon his head, and continued his 
journey. 

In the mean time, Cawthorne, who had advanc- 
ed before the reft, and who thought this might be* 
a falfe alarm of the devil, feized the fteward, who 
{till kept roaring, a little rudely by the arm ; 
and afked him, why in the name of fortune he kept 
making inch a noife ? 



219 

Oh ! fpare me ! fpare me ! Good devil 1 pray fpare 
me this time ! — For his fear had got fuch poffeffion 
of him, that he neither heard nor few any thing. 

What are you quite befide yourfelf, Collins ? 
Don't you know your neighbour Cawthorne ? See, 
there's your wife too? 

While he was fpeaking, the reft of the company 
kept carefully examining on every fide, to difcqver 
whether the devil was not hid in ibme corner. 
T hofe who held the torches raifed them up and 
down, and turned them in every direction while 
each put his right hand into his left coat pocket to 
touch the new bread and the prayer-book. By-and- 
by, as nothing appeared, the champions began to 
take courage : fome of them even felt difpofed to 
laugh, and afkedthe fteward if the devil had fcratch- 
ed him with his claws, as he was all over blood. 

(He had fcratched himfelf with briars in his 
hurry.) 

But others faid very ferioufly, that it was no 
time to joke, as they had all heard the terrible noife. 

Poo! faid Cawthorne, it has been nothing but 
fome poacher, or fome ilroller, who had a mind to 
play the fteward and us a trick; for the moment I 
appeared, the lamentable cry cfcafed ; and I faw the 
figure of a man hurry back towards the mountain 
as fall as he could. I am quite vexed I did not 
follow him at firft ; and we are all a pack of fools for 
not flipping Collins's dog, and bringing him with us. 

Peasants. Why you are doating, Cawthorne. It 
was not a bit like a human voice ; there was a hor- 
ror in it that went to one's very heart, and made 
one's blood run cold. A whole cart-load of iron 
bars trailed along the ftony road, would not have 
made half fo much noife. 

Cawthorne. I won't difpute the matter with \ ou, 
neighbours ; and 1 confefs my hair flood an end at 



220 

iirfl : but nothing (hall perfuade me I did not fee a 
man running away towards the mountain. 

Peasants. What then ? do you fuppofe the devil 
can't take the form of a man if he likes it? 

While this was going on, the fteward, who heard 
not one fy liable of what they faid, kept finding on 
towards his own houfe, where he entreated his 
neighbours to pafs the night with him; and they 
defired no better than to ftay guzzling till morning. 



CHAP. LXXVI. 






The Pastor goes to the Alehouse, 



1 HE buftle of the night had roufed the 
whole village ; and the parfonage had not efcaped 
the general difturbance. The rector alarmed left 
fome unhappy accident had happened, informed 
himfelf about the affair, and received terrible ac- 
counts of the apparition which had occafioned fuch 
a commotion. It immediately occurred to him, 
that he could make fome ufe of the fteward's 
fright ; and accordingly went, late as it was, to the 
alehoufe. The moment he appeared, there was a 
clearing of all the mugs ; and the peafants ftarting 
up, faluted him, one and all with, " W r elcome, Re- 
verend Doctor f 

Rector. Many thanks to you, my good neigh- 
bours : and I am very glad to fee you are fo ready 
to lend your afliftance, when any accident happens; 
it befpeaks a very good difpofition in you. 



221 

Peasants. It Is no more than our duty, an't 
pleafe your Reverence, — we wifh you a very good 
night. 

Rector. I wifh you the fame with all my heart, 
my friends. I have one word more to fay ; and that 
is, to beg you will be cautious how you reprefent 
this unlucky bufmefs ; for it has always a bad ap- 
pearance to make much a-do about a thing that may 
turn out to be nothing in the end ; or at lead, very 
different from what one fuppofes. Nobody as yet 
knows all the circumfcances ; and I need not tell 
you how eafily one is deceived by the darknefs oi" 
the night. 

Peasants. What you fay is very right, reverend 
Sir : we will be mindful of it. 

They were, however, no fooner out of the houfe, 
than they faid : " A good well-meaning chuckle- 
head that ; who never believes what he does not fee." 



CHAP. LXXVII. 



Pastoral Solicitude. 



I 



H AYE heard, Collins, faid the reclor, that 
fome unpleafant accident has happened to you ; 
and I am come to otter you every confolation in my 
power. Tell me faithfully, and as if you were 
ipeaking to your friend, what it is. 

Stezvard. I am a miferable wretch : fatan himfelf 
came to carry me away. 

Rector. What do you mean? Where did this 
happen? 

Steward, There, upon the top of the mountain. 
V2 



222 






Rector. But did you really fee any perfon ? an 
did any pei f on lay hands on you ? 

Steward. I law him, with my very own eyes : — 
He was a huge black man, with his head all on fire ; 
and he followed me quite to the foot of the moun- 
tain. 

Rector. How comes your face all over blood? 

Steward. Becauie I fell down amongft the thorns 
and briars, juft where the hill is the Iteepeft, and 
tore my feif terribly. 

Rector. No one laid hands on you then? 

Steward. No ; but I faw him with thefe two 
eyes, for all that. 

Rector. Very well, fo be it; let that matter reft 
for the prefent. I cannot well comprehend what it 
all means ; but be it what it will, it is of no great 
importance. But there is one thing absolutely cer- 
tain ; and that is, that there is an eternity, which 
xvill prove an abyss of torment to the wicked y bat is 
for them inevitable. And it is no wonder, confider 
ing your age, -and the fort of life you have led; i 
the dread of this eternity fhould at times alarm 
and make you miferable. 

Steward. Alas I Sir, — my alarm and mifer 
have taken fuch hold of me, that I know not wher 
I am. In the name of Heaven, pray tell me, wha 
can J, what ought I to do, to eicape from fatan' 
claws ? I feel as if I was alreadyJn his power. 

Rector. Collins, forbear to torment yourfelf wit 
fuch abfurd fancies, and to utter words that have 
not common fenfe. You are ftill pollened of your 
understanding : make a proper ufe of it : a6l accord- 
ing to the dictates of your confeience, and feize the 
opportunity of making all the amends in your pow 
er both to God and man. In fo doing, I will foon 
convince you, that the devil will have no power 
over you. 



223 

Stexvard. Oh ! dear Sir ! what can I do to ena- 
ble me to return to the grace of God ? 

Redlor. You muft fincerely repent of your fins ; 
correct your way of life ; and if you have at any 
time unjuftly poffefled yourfelf of a neighbour's 
goods, you muft reftore them. 

Steward. All the world thinks, Sir, I am very- 
rich; and I proteft folemnly, I am very much 
otherwife. 

Redlor. That is little to the purpofe : but you 
know you obtained Roughwater's clofe by fraud. 
1 have good reafon to fuppofe that Doughty and 
Matthew took a falfe oath ; and I will let you have 
no reft, till you reftore the poor fellow what is juft- 
ly his due. 

Steward, For Heaven's fake, good, dear Sir, 
have pity upon me. 

Redlor. The kindeft pity I can {hew you, is to 
make you do that which is right in the fight of God 
and man. 

Steward. And fo I will, Sir ; indeed I will. 

Rector. Will you then reftore to Roughwater his 
clofe ? 

Steward. Oh ! mercy on me ! — Yes I will in- 
deed. 

Rector. Do you own that you came unfairly by 

it? 'Vh* r ! 

Steward. O Lord ! have mercy upon mtrV — Yes, 

I do own it : but I (hall be a beggar, ii I air* obliged 

to give it up. 

Rector. You had better beg your bread, than un- 
juftly retain what does not belong to yon. (The 
fteward here uttered a profound figh.) But tell 
me now, I befeech you, what bufinefs could you 
have upon the mountain atfo late an hour? 

Stexvard. For Heaven's fake, Sir, do not aft me : 




224 

I cannot, 1 cannot indeed tell you. Have pity upon 
the Hate I am in, or I am undone forever. 

Rector. I am very far from wifhing to compel 
you to reveal any thing againft your will. If you 
have any thing upon your mind, and you can bring 
yourfelf voluntarily to confefs it ; I will give you 
fuch advice as you might expect from a father : but 
ifyoufeelaninfurmountable repugnance, it will be 
your own fault if I am unable to give you advice 
upon an occafion, where perhaps you Hand the moil 
in need of it. Moreover, as I promife not to re- 
veal any fecret you may entruft me with, without 
your confent, 1 fee no advantage you can have in 
keeping the fecret. 

Steward. But may I be quite certain you will 
never mention any thing 1 tell you without my 
leave ? 

Rector. Moft certainly, Collins : 1 give you my 
folemn promife. 

Steward. Well then. Pray God forgive me ! — 
1 went to remove the boundary-ftone of the lord- 
ihip. 

Rector. Gracious Heaven \ And what could in- 
duce you to behave fo, to a worthy good landlord, 
who never did you any injury ? 

Steward. Why, Sir, you may perhaps hiwe 
heard, that he threatened to take away from me, 
either tr?e alehoufe or the ftewardfhip j and that 
drove me to defpair. 

Rector. Unhappy, miftaken man ! He intended 
'3 r ou no ill j but had determined, if you gave up the 
ftewardfhip with a good grace, to make you a 
handfome recompence. 

Steward. No ; is it poflible I 

Rector. Nothing more certain ; for it was he 
himfelf who told me fo. He was mooting laft fa- 
turday upon the moor, and there I met him as 



225 

I was going to Dr. Dean's at Finefleer. He then 
told me in fo many words, that he intended young 
Wrangham for the ftewardfhip • but as he was 
in good circumftances, he Ihould condition with 
him to allow you twelve pounds a-year for your 
life out of his falary, in order that you might have 
no reafon to complain. 

Steward. O mercy '• if I had but known that, 
I never would have ac~led as I have done. 

Rector. Your fault has been, that you have 
loft all confidence in the Almighty, which } t ou 
fhould never do ; even although you cannot imme- 
diately difcover in what manner his univerfal good- 
nefs acls. You ought alio to fuppofe that a real good 
man, like your landlord, will never do any thing 
that approaches towards injuftice ; although the re- 
compence may not always exaclly keep pace with 
your expectations. By encouraging iuch a difpoii- 
tion, you will conduct yourfelf with due deference 
towards your fuperiors ; and probably by that 
means fecure them as your friends, if ever you 
Ihould ftand in need of their affiftance. 

Steward, The Lord help me 1 what a wretch I 
am ! why had I not fome idea of what you tell me ? 

Rector. What is done, you know cannot be un- 
done : but what is your prefent determination ? 

Steward, I proteft I do not know. If 1 confefs 
every thing, I mud be utterly undone. — What do 
you advife me to do, reverend Sir ? 

Reclor. I rauft repeat what I have already faid— - 
I will not force a confeflion from you. I fhall only 
fimply give you my advice ; which is, in every 
thing to follow the rule of rectitude and truth : it 
can never miflead you. Sir James Grant is of a 
merciful difpolition ; and you are confciousyou are 
to blame. After all, you muft determine as you 
think proper : but were it my cafe, I ihould cer- 



> 



226 

tainly throw myfelf upon his clemency. I know 
very well how difficult a talk it is ; but 1 alfo know 
that you can have no peace of confcience, till you 
have confefled your crimes, and made all the repa 
ration in your power. (Here the Reward uttered i 
deep groan, but faid not a word.) I would wifh that 
i: fhould be your own free determination.: but yet 
the more I think of it, the more I am convinced, 
that your wifeft way will be to throw yourfelf upon 
the mercy of Sir James. 1 muft alfo obferve to you 
that, of which you have no doubt yourfelf, that he 
will endeavour to difcover what could have drawn 
you at fo late an hour to the mountain. 

Steward. Good Heavens! it juft now comes int 
my mind, that I left my fpade, my pickaxe, an 
other things, clofe to the ftone, which I had almo 
dug up ; and they alone will be fufficient to difco 
ver the whole affair 1 You can have no idea, reve- 
rend Sir, of the horror that poffefles my mind ! 

Sector. If thofe poor tools, which it would 
be very eafy to collect, and hide ftill before day- 
break, give you fo much uneafmefs ; confider how 
many other circumftances there may be, which 
may lead to a difeovery : and if you obftinately per- 
fift in your filence, think what a ftore of mifery you 
are laying up for yourfelf: you will never know a 
fingle day of peace. Your confcience can never be* 
at reft, till you have unburthened your mind. 

Steward. I am afraid too, that God will never 
pardon me, till I confefs my crime. 

Rector. Since you have a felf-conviction of this 
truth, how can you hefitate ? And I can venture tQ 
affure you, that you can never return to his grace, 
while you are confeious of an unrepented and un- 
avowed crime. 

Steward. Muft I then make an unreferved con- 
feffion ? 



227 



ReSlor. Fear not, but that God will vifit you with 
Ihis grace, if you follow the dictates of your confci- 
ence. 

Steward. Well then, I am finally refolved; I 
will confefs every thing. 

As foon as he had come to this determination, 
the rector repeated for his penitent, the following 
prayer. 

11 Heavenly Father ! accept we befeech thee our 
praifes, and our penitence. Thou haft flretched 
out thy hand to a finner ; and that hand, although 
ftrewing nothing but mercy, and companion upon 
his head, has been conftrued by his fears, into an 
a£t of difpleafure. But it has made an impreffion 
upon his hitherto infenfible heart ; and has opened 
his eyes to the truth, againft which he has been till 
now, blind and hardened. O Thou! pure effence 
of mercy and compaffion I accept the facrifice of his 
confeflion, and do not withhold from him thy for- 
givenefs. Accomplim we befeech Thee, the work 
that thou haft begun : and receive him amongft the 
number of thy loft fneep, found again. Great God ! 
thou knoweft how frail we are ; and thou haft com- 
paffion upon thofe who truly repent. We bieis thy 
holy name for this frefh inftance of thy kindnefs ; 
and we pray thee to hold this miferably penitent 
ftedfaft in thy ways, that he may fecure the eternal 
peace of his own foul, and ferve as an example to 
thole of his unhappy fellow-creatures who have 
ftraved from them." 

The ftevard felt penetrated with cordial com- 
fort, and ihed a torrent of the only pleafant tears 
he had ever known. " O wor hy minifter ! of a 
merciful God," faid he ; "I will proftrate myfelf 
before his throne, and do every every thing that 
you advife. By thefe means I hope to obtain the 



228 

pardon of God, and eftablifh the peace of my owi 
foul." 

The minifter added fome words of comfort, an< 
then retired. 

It was already five o'clock in the morning ; but 
he would take no reft till he had written to Sir 
James Grant ; which letter he intended fhould ac- 
company that of the preceding evening. They 
were couched in the following terms. 



CHAP. LXXVIII. 



Two letters from the Parson to the Squire, 

Sir James: 

X WO circumflances of fo much importance, 
have lately come to my knowledge, that I thought I 
could not do better than recommend the bearer of 
this, John Doughty, to make this confeflion before 
you, as before his judge. He is perfuaded in his 
own mind, that the oath he and Matthew took ten 
years ago, in the affair between Rough water and 
the fteward, was a falfe oath. It is a moll deplora- 
ble cafe ; and is heightened by many ferious cir- 
cumflances, in which your late clerk, and my de- 
ceafed predeceffor had a lhare ; which will, I fear, 
excite much fcandal, when they come to be devulg- 
ed. I derive one great confolation from it, how- 
ever : I am in hopes one of the pooreft of my pa- 
riihioners the unfortunate Roughwater ; who, with 
his family, has fuffered fo much from the injuRice 



229 

that has been done him, will be reftored to his 
rights. I am led to fuppofe that the fteward's au- 
dacity, which feems to gain frefh ftrength every 
day, and his utter contempt of every thing that 
ought to be held facred, will foon meet with the 
punifhment they deferve. As for the poor, mifera- 
ble Doughty ; I humbly, but earneflly implore for 
him, all the favour that the facred rights of juilice 
will admit of, when admin ittered by one of its fer- 
vants, fo generous, and companionate as you are. 

My wife prefents her refpectfnl compliments to 
Lady Grant, and my children to the young ladies. 
We all return you many thanks for the fine flower- 
roots you have been pleafed to fend to ornament our 
poor little garden. I dare anfwer for it, no pains 
will be fpared in the cultivation of them, as my lit- 
tle ones are pafTionately fond of flowers, 
I have the honour to remain, 
With the greateft refpecl, 
Your very humble 

and obedient Servant, 

William Sheplew 



SECOND LETTER. 

Sir James: 

SINCE I clofed the Letter that accompanies 
this, in which I difclofed to you, as was my duty, 
Doughty's affair ; Divine Providence, which ordt-rs 
every thing for the bed, has, in a very incompre- 
henfible manner, confirmed my hopes refpe6tmg 
Roughwater, and my fufpicions of the fteward. 

The whole village was alarmed laft night, bv a 
very unufual noife ; and I was indeed at firft afraid 
X 



230 



>n T 



fome unhappy accident had happened. When I 
came to inquire into the affair, I was informed that 
the fteward had been purfued by the devil, who 
wanted to fly away with him ; that they had heard 
him calling out for help from the top of the moun- 
tain ; and that every perfon in the village had heard 
the terrible din the devil made during the purfuit. 
I am forry to lay I could hardly help laughing at 
this ridiculous account : but I received every mo- 
ment frelh informations of the terrible ftory ; and 
at laft there came fome who told me, that the 
fteward was returned to his own houfe, accom- 
panied by a troop of his neighbours who had ref- 
cued him : but that the devil had handled him 
fo feverely, they were afraid he would never re- 
cover it. It is true, this difmal tale did not make 
much impreffion upon me ; but it had upon them : 
and it was neceffary fomething fhould be done. 
Moreover I thought the fteward's pride might be 
a little humbled by the event ; and unwilling to lofe 
fo favourable an opportunity, I haftened to his 
houfe. 

I found him in a mod deplorable condition. 
Nothing could perfuade him that the devil had not 
been at his heels ; and even after all the infight I 
have been able to get into the affair, I have not 
been able to develope the myftery. It appears very 
certain that nobody touched the fteward ; and that 
the wounds upon his head, which are of little con- 
fequence, were occafioned by a fall. It appears alfo, 
that the moment any help came, the devil ceafed 
his roarings, and took to his heels. But i muft pro- 
ceed to what is more effential. 

The ftewardd, extremely humble, and terribly 
frightened, has confeffed to me two moft iniquitous 
tranfaclions ; and has confented that I (hould im- 
part them to you. The firft, in confirmation of 



231 

what Doughty told me the evening before is, that 
he led your grandfather into an error refpedting 
Roughwater's clofe, and that he holds it by an im- 
juft title. The fecond is, that it was his intention 
to difplace the boundary-ftone of your lordfhip, this 
laft night ; and that he was actually at work about 
it, when this aftonilhing adventure happened to 
him. I muft beg to intercede for this poor misera- 
ble creature, who really feems hncerely penitent, 
and is completely humbled. 

Circumftances being thus altered, I (hall charge 
William Crooklove with theie letters, inftead of 
Doughty, as I firft intended. I ihall hope for 
your directions in this affair when he returns ; and 
am, 

With the utmoft refpeel;, 

Your very faithful humble fervant, 

William Shepley. 
Fineshade, 21st March^ 1782. 



CHAP. LXXIX. 

The Poulterer's Deposition. 

William crooklove loft no time 

in delivering his letters at the Caltle ; but Barwell 
was there before him, and had related the whole of 
his adventure to the Baronet, without forgeting 
the fmalleft tittle. Sir James feated in his arm 
chair, had heard it all with repeated burfts of laugh- 
ter at the fteward's panic, and the Phe, Phoa, Phum 
of the pretended devil. Lady Grant, who was not 



232 

yetrifen from her bed in the next room, hearing the 
poulterer's loud Phe, Phoa, Phum, and her huf- 
band's reiterated peals of mirth j called out, " For 
Heaven's fake, my dear Sir James, what are you 
laughing at ? Do come here, and tell me what's the 
matter." 

Barwell, faid Sir James, my wife has a mind to 
hear you counterfeit the devil ; wait a few minutes 
till fhe flips on her clothes ; file will be here di- 
rectly. 

As foon as the lady appeared, the poulterer be- 
gan his part again ; and defcribed minutely how he 
had purfued the fleward to the bottom of the hill, 
till he was flopped by the appearance of the vil- 
lagers, with their torches and arms ; upon which he 
thought the wifeft thing he could do, was to de- 
camp, and regain the mountain, as fpeedily, and 
with as little noife as poffible. 

Both Sir James and his lady laughed till the tears 
ran from their eyes ; and as foon as they could 
compofe themfelves fufficiently, they ordered the 
poulterer a draught of flrong beer ; charging him 
not to mention what had happened to any creature 
living for the prefent. 

Soon after William arrived with the letters 
from the rector. The Baronet was affected at the 
recital of Doughty 's contrition, and at his grand- 
father's imprudence; while poor Roughwater's fuf- 
ferings extremely hurt him : but the rector's pru- 
dent conduct in the affair, afforded him real plea- 
fure. He gave the letters to his Lady to read ; 
faying at the fame time, " That reclor of our's is 
really a moft worthy character : no man living 
could have acted with more circumfpection and 
humanity." 

When Lady Grant had read the letters fhe ex- 
claimed, " What a {hocking hiftory is this of 



Doughty 's ! But I hope, my love, you mean to re- 
llore Roughwater his clofe. Pray lofe no time ; 
and if the difhoneftfteward (hould prove refractory, 
he will deferve to be puniihed with the utmoft fe- 
verity. He is really fo bad a man, he deferves no 
pity." 

Sir James. I fhall have him hanged certainly. 

Lady. Nay, now, you are only joking: I know 
you would not occafion the death of a fly, if you 
could help it. 

Sir James. Have you really fo good an opinion 
of me, my Fanny ? I hope I deferve it ; as 1 hope 
always to deferve your love. 

So faying, he left her to go and anfwer the rec- 
tor's letters. 



CHAP. LXXX. 



Sir James Grant's Answer. 
Reverend and dear sir: 



1 HAD heard the whole of the fteward's ad- 
venture, from the very devil who had put him into 
fuch a panic, about half an hour before I received 
the favour of yours. The demon is no other than 
the honed poulterer Barwell, whom you know very 
well. I fhall have the pleafure of telling you the 
whole ftory to-day; which I have no doubt will 
highly amufe you. I fhall wait upon you by-and- 
by, as I intend to affemble the village upon the 
fubjecl; of the boundary-ftone : and I will endea- 
X 2 



234 

vour at the fame time to laugh them out of the be- 
lief of devils and hobgoblins. It is a comedy, in 
the performance of which, I muit beg your affift- 
aiice- Perhaps it will be the firft you were ever 
at in your life ; and the idea of taking a part may 
(lartle you : but upon the whole you very likely 
have had no lofs, and your ignorance of fuch fcenes, 
may have been the means of preferving to you a 
greater portion of that benevolence, which is your 
greateft ornament. 

1 fend you a few bottles of my belt wine : if it 
were ten times better, it would only be the more 
{likable for you ; and ferve more effectually to 
prove my gratitude to you for affording me an op- 
portunity of repairing my poor grandfather's fault. 
We will drink a glafs this evening to his memory. 
He was in his heart a very worthy man, although 
his eafy temper fometimes expofed him to the im- 
poiition of knaves, who got about him, and took ad- 
vantage of it. 

Accept my fmcere thanks for the pains you have 
taken in Roughwater's affair : reft allured he fhall 
have all juftice done him. I hope, that after to-day, 
he will never think of my grandfather but with plea- 
fure. I am molt extremely hurt to hear of his fuf- 
le rings ; and I will do all in my power to put an 
end to them, and to convert them into joy and con- 
tent. I think it a duty incumbent upon children, 
to repair, to the utmoll of their ability any errors 
their parents may have committed. If there are 
any who fuppofe, that the office of a judge, is free 
from thofe fituations which may occafion remorfe, 
they are woefully miitaken. And this certainly 
mould induce every man who is elevated to fuch 
diltinguiihed pre-eminence, to deliberate with the 
utmoft caution, before he pafTes fentence; and 
above all, to keep his mind perfectly free from 
every fpecies of prejudice and partiality. — But I 



235 



am preaching to you, who know all this ten times 
better than 1 do. 

My wife and children prefent their beft refpects 
to you and yours : they have added a few more to 
the roots they fent before ; and feem really happy 
in an opportunity of ihewing any civility to perfons 
of whom they think fo highly, as they do of you all. 
Farewell till I fee you, my worthy friend : and do 
let me beg now, that you will not buftle from room 
to room, to fee that every thing is in the moft per- 
fect order ; and don't prepare a great, feaft, as if you 
thought it was our wifh to eat you out of houfe and 
home. If you mould treat us with ceremony, I 
will vifit you no more, although it would be my 
wifh to do fo frequently. 

Once more accept my thanks for your humane 
care ; and believe me to be, with the fmaereft af- 
fection, 

Your faithful friend, 

Castle Grant, James Grant. 

21st March, 1782. 

P. S. My wife has juft told me, me is deter- 
mined to make one at the poulterer's comedy ; fo 
that you may expect a coachful. 



CHAP. LXXXI. 



The good Cow-keeper. 

-ZjlS foon as Sir James had difpatched Wil- 
liam Crooklove, he went into his farm-yard ; 
where he felected one, out of fifty cows 1 , as a pre- 



236 



fent for Rough water. Having fo done, he told 
his cow-keeper, to give her a belly-full, and then to 
fend a labourer with her to Finelhade ; and there 
to put her up in the ftable at the parfonage till he 
got there. 

The man faid, fcratching his head: " Pleafe 
your Honour, it is my duty to do whatever you 
command me ; but amongft all thefe fifty cows, 
there is not another I am fo dearly fond of. She 
is fo young, fo handfome, and in fuch fine condi- 
tion ! And befides, (he is juft now in full milk." 

Sir James. You are an honefl fellow ; and I am 
pleafed to fee your attachment to your cattle. I am 
alfo pleafed that I have made fo good a choice. I 
wanted to pick out the very beft, as fhe is intended 
for a poor man who wants comfort : fo don't grudge 
her, my good Frank : it will cheer his heart. 

Frank. It's perfect murder, your Honour : a poor 
man can never keep fuch a cow as that, and fhe 
will be quite wafted. Oh I dear me I I ihall never 
be able to bear to fee her flarved. If fhe mould not 
get a belly-full, I mud go every day myfelf to 
Finefhade, and carry her fait and hay. 

Sir James. Honeft fellow ! But never fear ! the 
perfon for whom fhe is intended will have a very 
good clofe for her, and plenty of fodder. 

Frank. If fhe mould but be well taken care of ; 
and fince we muft part, I can't help it. 

Sir James. Don't be uneafy ; fhe will be in good 
hands. 

This faid, the man prepared to obey his orders ; 
muttering to himfelf though, all the time, what j 
a pity it was, that his matter would fend away the 
beft cow he had. He could not help giving her the 
bread intended for his own breakfaft, and a good 
portion of fait. He then told the labourer to put on 
his funday coat, and one of his beft fhirts ; to comb 



237 

his hair, and to clean his flioes ; for that he was to 
lead Primrofe down to Fmefhade. The labourer 
obeyed him punctually. 

In the mean time, Sir James meditated very fe- 
riouily on the fentence he iliould pafs upon the 
iteward j in like manner as a parent, who is com- 
pelled to (hew feme ieverity towards a refractory 
child, confiders only its benefit, and almoft weeps 
as he inflicts the punifhment. As he feels more dil- 
pofed to pardon than reprove, and would more wil- 
lingly gain its affection by kindnefs, than enforce 
obedience by ftripes : So Sir James, who felt the 
neceSity of adminiftering impartial juftice, fighed, 
when he coniidered how heavy that juftice muft fall 
upon the poor delinquent. Thus dilpofed, he pre- 
pared to handle the fcales. 

Lady Grant and the children, in order that they 
might be the fooner ready, haftened the dinner- 
hour. 



CHAP. LXXXIL 



Faithfulness to the Master, produces kindness to the 
Children. 



LlTTLE JAMES, the eldeft child, who 
had been to the coachman twenty times to beg him 
not to be too late, had no fooner fwallowed his din- 
ner, than he hurried to the liable, calling out: 
I Robin, we've dined, we've dined ; put to this 
moment, and bring the coach to the door."'' 



238 

You little (lory-teller, faid Robin, it is impoffible 
they can have dined yet, for it is only a few minutes' 
fince the bell rang. 

What do you mean by calling me names, you old 
bald-pate ? faid James. 

Wait a bit, you little rogue : I'll teach you to call 
me bald-pate. I'll go and trim the horfes, and then 
they can't be ready in lefs than two hours ; and if 
that won't do, I'll tell your papa that Hector has 
got the cholic : and then he'll go in the chaife, and 
there won't be room for you. 

No, pray don't replied James : have done now, 
Robin: don't trim the horfes, and I'll love you 
dearly, and never call you old bald-pate any more.; 

Come kifs me then, Jemmy: give me a good 
hearty fmack, or I'll take my fciffars directly. 

Nay now, that I will not, faid the child ; you 
have got fuch a nafty hard beard. 

Well then, poor Hector's going to be taken ill. 

Well, come then, replied James ; I will give you 
a kifs. But then you mall promife to be ready in a' 
minute. 

Heaven blefs thee! thou fweet child! — Come 
now, I'll be ready before you can get your hat on. 

And in fact he was at the door in the twinkling 
of an eye. Little James had not been in the carri- 
age five minutes, before he fancied it was too 
hot, and begged he might fit upon the box with 
Robin : to which his father confented, charging the 
coachman to take good care of him. 



I 



239 



CHAP. LXXXIIL 



The Masters approbation, encourages honest 
Workmen. 



XvOBIN's horfcs were in good condition, 
Jid the fmalleft crack of his whip made them bound 
way. They foon reached the village: when Sir 
ames alighted from the carriage, to fee what pre- 
>arations had been made for the church. He found 
very man in his proper place ; and as many flones 
tlready got up, as could be expected in fo (hort a 
ime. He commended their regularity and their 
iddrefs, in fach proper terms, that they could not 
lelp obferving — that if they had either neglected 
heir work, or done it ill, he would have been fure 
o find it out. 

Leonard was fecretly delighted ; becaufe he re- 
lected that he fhould have lei's occafion to find 
r ault, now that his work-fellows were convinced 
hat their neglect would be difcovered without his 
romplaining of it. Sir James defired the matter 
nafon, would tell him which was Roughwater, who 
aras diftinguifhable enough from his pale, ema- 
nated appearance; and who was juft at that mo- 
nent {training himfelf to remove an enormous 
arge ftone. 

I would not have any man, faid Sir James, in a 
oud voice, exert himfelf beyond his ftrength. And 
Larkye, Leonard, be fo good as to order each of 
hefe honeft men a good draught of ale, to drink 






240 



ll 



the King's health, as foon as they leave work this 
evening. 

Having fo faid, he proceeded on his road to the 
parfonage. 



CHAP. LXXXIV. 



A meeting between a good Parish-Priest^ and a 
benevolent Squire. 



OIR JAMES faw the worthy reaor a long 
way off, coming to meet him, and immediately 
haltened forward, that he might ihorten his walk. 
" My good friend," faid he, " the weather is 
not fine enough to have tempted you out this after- 
noon, and 1 am forry that ceremony fliould : befides 
you have been fo much occupied of late, that I am 
fure you need not take any unneceffary trouble. 
But come, let us return to the houfe, that I may tell 
you the flory of the poulterer ; and then to bufmefs 
for I am impatient to have done that I may have a 
comfortable hour's chat with you afterwards." 

His nrfl ftep was to fend for young Wrangham. 
" I intend," faid he to the reclor, " to have a feal 
put upon all the fteward's papers; by which means 
I fhall difcover who are in his debt ; for they mail 
be opened in my prefence." 

Rector. This will be a good way alfo, Sir,, for 
you to become acquainted with many of your 
tenants. * 



241 

Sir Janes. I am in hopes by this means to reme- 
dy many of the bad practices of the village, if I can 
but once make the inhabitants underfland what in- 
evitable deftruction men run into, who allow them- 
felves to be drawn in, to contract the fmalleft debt 
with a perfon of fo ufurious a difpofition as this 
Collins. I think, my good Sir, the exiftinglaws do 
not provide fufliciently againft this evil. 

Rector. I am afraid, Sir, it is an inconvenience, 
beyond the reach of the legiflature : the paternal 
interference of benevolent landlords is the moft 
likely remedy. 



CHAP. LXXXV, 

Great Guilt, hut Great Compassion* 



XJURING this conversation, young Wrang- 
ham arrived. 

Sir Ja?nes. Wrangham, it is my intention to de- 
pofe my fteward : but although I am perfuaded that 
he has behaved extremely ill, I have fome reafons 
for wiminghim to retain apart of his f alary, as long 
as he lives. You are at your eafe, Wrangham; and 
if I mould bellow the ftewardlhip upon you, I have 
little doubt but you would agree to pay Collins 
twelve guineas a-year out of your profits, in conn- 
deration of his age, 

Wrangham. If your Honour fhould think me 
worthy of the place, I will conform in this, as in 
every thing elfe, to your directions. 
Y 



242 

Sir James. Very well, Wrangham ; come to me 
to-morrow morning at the Caftle, and we will 
fettle this bufinefs. And now, my friend, 1 would 
have you go with my clerk, and the conftable ; and 
put a feal upon all Collins's papers and accounts, 
without the exception of one, if you can help it. 

The three commiiHoners loft no time in the ex- 
ecution of their orders, but fealed up every thing 
they could find. 

Dame Collins was very anxious to pafs a fpunge 
over the board, where feveral reckonings were 
fcored up in chalk ; but Wrangham prevented her, 
and made the clerk write down every thing he found 
there. 

One article engaged their attention particularly. 
" Saturday the 18th, paid Jofeph the mafon's jour- 
neyman, half a guinea in ready money." 

What was this for? demanded they of Collins 
and his wife. But they could get no anfwer : and 
fo they returned to the parfonage, where they laid 
before Sir James the copy from the board ; and his 
curiofity was excited by the article of the half 
guinea, as much as that of his commiffioners had 
been. 

They faid they had inquired about it, but could 
get no information. 

WqII, faid Sir James, we mall perhaps find 
means to make them fpeak. As foon as Nimble 
comes, do you, conftable, go with him : and bring 
both Collins and John Doughty before me. 



243 



CHAP. LXXXVI. 



The good Parish-Priest confirms his character. 

At the firft word the rec~lor heard of this 
new complaint againft Collins, he flipped away 
from the company, and haftened to the fteward's 
ho ufe. 

What, faid he, in the name of wonder, is this 
half guinea you have given to Jofeph? You will in- 
creafe your difficulties if you do not make a full 
confeffion ; for Sir James is extremely exafperated 
againft you. Upon this, the fteward in the utmoft 
confufion, acknowledged every thing that had pal- 
led between him and Jofeph. And then the rector 
hurried back to make his report to Sir James, 
painting in the ftrongeft colours the fteward's con- 
trition ; and entreating him to (hew all the indul- 
gence his juftice would admit of. 

'Sir James. Do not make yourielf uneafy on his 
account, my worthy friend, You iliall find me as 
companionate as you can wifll. 

He fent immediately to have Jofeph feized ; and 
they brought him bound juft at the fame time that 
Collins and Doughty arrived. 

Collins trembled like a leaf; but Doughty feem- 
ed abforbed by his own thoughts, and though af- 
flicted, yet patient. As for Jofeph he gnafhed his 
teeth, and faid in a low voice to Collins : " You 
d -n'd rafcal, you are the caufe of all this." 

Sir James had them all conducted into aground- 
floor room of the paribnage ; and there, in the 



244 

prefence of Wrangham, the conftable, and Nim- 
ble, they underwent a feparate examination ; and 
the clerk having taken them down in writing, they 
were conducted to the foot of the large tree on the 
village green, where the parifh meetings were 
ufually held : and then Sir James ordered the 
church-bell to be rung, to aflemble all the inhabi- 
tants. 



CHAP. LXXXVII. 

A stout heart never sees Ghosts. 



JL RAY, Mr. Shepley, give me a glafs of 
wine, faid Sir James, before I attend this meeting; 
for i find I fhall want all my refolution, to enable 
me to affume that appearance of firmnefs which is 
necenary to make an impreffion upon my audience, 
if you will allow me to fay fo to you, my good 
friend ; who I am perfuaded feel, and are able to 
execute what I allude to, much better than I can. 
I think, whoever has occafion to addrefs affemblies 
of the lower orders of mankind, fhould endeavour 
to acquire an air of confidence and an appearance 
of feeling what is faid; which often produces more 
effecl, even than the matter delivered. 

I agree with you entirely, Sir, replied the rec- 
tor ; but it is difficult for every body, and in the 
power of very few, to acquire that fort of popular 
oratory, which alone can make an impreffion upon 
ordinary minds. 



245 

Sir James, I will take you as my example, my 
' worthy friend ; for nobody understands it better ; 
and I will copy your paternal conduct in every thing 
that relates to your pariihoners, which nobody per- 
forms fo well. 

Rector, Sir, you confound me by your too fa- 
vourable opinion : I only ftrive to do my duty. s 

Sir James, I fay nothing but what is ftrictly true: 
but 1 will fpare your modefty. Let us now con- 
clude ; the bell has ceafed ringing,- and I am im- 
patient to begin our comedy, hoping it will be the 
t means of rooting out fome weeds of fuperitition. 

Reclor, I wiffo it may, for it is an evil of confide- 
\ rable magnitude, and often does away the impref- 
I fioa of fuch ufeful inftruction, as one would wifh 
to inculcate. Jn fome initances its power is fo 
great, and renders the minds, over which it has in- 
fluence, fo timerous as to prevent their exertion in 
circumitances which are moil effential to their well- 
being. Moreover it warps the imagination, fo that 
the perfon who is under its influence fees every 
thing through a falfe medium ; and what is Hill 
worfe, it often hardens the heart, and makes it 
proud and refractory. The fimplieity of uncor- 
rupted nature, is difpofed to take every impreffion 
of truth and virtue : it is like foft wax that may be 
moulded into any form. On the contrary, the ft te- 
pidity of fuperitition is like brafs, the form of which 
cannot be altered without the aid of fire and Heel, 
and iince you have entered upon the fubject of a 
vice that fo materially interrupts the doctrine it is 
my particular duty to teach ; you will perhaps al- 
low me to enlarge upon it a little. 

Sir James, I make it my particular requeft that 
you would, my dear Sir: it is a fubject that very 
much interelts me. 

Redfor. Man, in his undepraved nature, knows 
Y2 



246 

but few things, till they are arranged in good or- 
der in his head ; and they all tend to his well-doing 
and advantage. He does not pique himfelf upon 
underftanding what is out of his province, and the 
knowledge of which it can anfwer no end to attain. 
On the other hand, a mind under the influence of 
fuperftjtion has no diftincl idea of any thing : it af- 
fumes importance upon the fuppofed knowledge of 
what it does not comprehend, and then dignifies 
the chaos with the appellation of Divine infpira- 
tions j and the (liadows of fcience without confid- 
ence, it calls wifdom, light from above. Ingenu- 
ous fimplicity is governed by reafon, forms no 
opinion without due reflection, examines every 
thing with attention and compofure, is open to 
conviction; and upon fuch fubjects as are of effen- 
tial importance, it employs a quiet and modeft 
zeal, full of gratitude to fuch as are willing to aifift 
it in its purfuit. Superllition, on the contrary, 
maintains its opinions in oppofition to common 
fenfe. It never exerts itfelf but in extravagancies ; 
but when fo occupied, it hurries on with a deter- 
mined and turbulent fpirit. Ingenuoufhefs is mild, 
modeft, virtuous, and religious. Superftition is 
furious, overbearing, corrupt, and often profane.* 
Sir James. What you fay is confirmed by a 
thoufand pages of hiftory ; and it requires but very 
little experience and knowledge of the world to be 
convinced that hardnefs of heart and fuperftition 
are infeparable companions, and that the confe- 
quences of it are always hurtful and bitter. But it 
is time for us to attend the affembly : I intend to 
make an attack upon this hateful enemy of reafon, 

* It is imagined our re&or (one ©f the worthiest of men) had 
upon this occasion, a desire to make a little display of his learn- 
ing before his patron, and had got out of his depth ; for we 
confess we do not quite understand him. 



247 

and if I can, deftroy the ramparts it has raifed in 
the village of Finelhade. 

Reclor. I wifh you fuccefs with all my heart: 
hitherto my fermons and all my precepts have gain- 
ed but little ground. 

Sir James, I have no hopes of producing any 
effect by force of words ; all my hopes reft upon 
the poulterer and his chicken-bafket, his lanthorn ? 
his pickaxe, and his fpade. 

ReSlor. I have fanguine hopes of your fuccefs ; 
and I have no doubt but one event of this kind, 
will produce more effect than volumes of the pureft 
eloquence. 



CHAP. LXXXVIIL 



Ghosts of a new Fashion. 



W: 



HILE the gentlemen were difcourfmg as 
above, the villagers were affembling round the tree. 
The events of the preceding evening, and the im- 
perfect accounts many of them had heard, made 
them flock in crowds. 

The alarming appearance of the devil, had excit- 
ed a wonderful commotion ; and many of them 
having met in the morning, to fettle what mould be 
done upon fimilar occafions, they had refolved una- 
nimoufly to oppofe the parfon, if ever he fhould 
prefume again to preach doctrine that tended to 
make their belief in ghofls. They propofed that 
Hardiman^ one of the elders of the village, fhould 



248 

make a fpeech upon the occafion. But this was 
oppofed by young Wrangham, who faid it would 
be a difgrace to them all to have their fentiments 
explained by an old villain, who ftarved his chil- 
dren to death, and never fcrupled to commit any 
fpecies of iniquity. 

We all know, replied his neighbours, that he is a 
fadhypocrite, and a moil covetous dog: befides we 
are not ignorant of the life he leads with his maid- 
fervant, who is no better than himfelf. He is noto- 
rious alfo for being a moll fhamefaced liar ; and 
nobody encroaches more upon his neighbour's pro- 
perty, or is fo apt to miftake his neighbour's land 
for his own in harveft-time. But at the fame time, 
nobody can talk as he does, and there is not ano- 
ther man in the whole parifh who is a match for the 
parfon in a point of religion. If youlpow any other 
man, half fo capable, who is willing^to undertake it, 
well and good. 

Wrangham knew of nobody ; fo they called Har- 
diman, and faid, " Harkye, neighbour, you are the 
man that we mult pit againft the parfon. As foon 
as the Squire comes to the meeting, you muft not 
fail to make our complaint againft the reclor, on ac- 
count of his incredulity j and to beg that he will 
order a day of prayer extraordinary, becaufe the 
devil has appeared in perfon." 

Upon this occafion they were far from being 
unanimous. Some of the poorer amongft them 
were on the rector's fide ; for he was a kind friend 
to them: but the rich men bore him no good will, 
particularly fince he had hinted in one of his fer- 
mons, that they were very wrong in oppofmg Sir 
James's wifh, that they mould give up an indiffer- 
ent common field as a cow paflure for the cottagers. 

Hardiman accepted the commiffion without 
much hefitation. " I could have wifhed," laid he. 



249 

" to have had a little more notice ; but I will go and 
fludy a fpeech directly." 

This arrangement had been made in the morn- 
ing ; and when the hour of meeting came, and they 
were almoft all affernbled, they were furprifed and 
confounded that Hardiman did not appear. 

I think I can explain the myftery, faid Nic Airy; 
he is waiting for a deputation of his townfmen to 
fetch him in ceremony. 

What's to be done ? faid the others ; we muft e'en 
comply with his ridiculous whims ; he'il perhaps 
not come without it. 

Whereupon they difpatched three of their num- 
ber, who brought him directly. As foon as he arriv- 
ed, he told a large company of the men who were 
Handing together, in themoft folemn and pompous 
manner; that he had meditated a molt excellent 
fpeech, and that they would have every reafon to 
be fatisfied with him. 

In the mean time Sir James had concerted a 
fignal with the poulterer ; who, as foon as he difplay- 
ed a white handkerchief, was to appear with all his 
apparatus, and relate his (lory. He then, accompa- 
nied by the rector, and followed by his fecretary, 
proceeded to the affembly. As'foon as he appeared, 
they all pulled off their hats, and welcomed his 
Honour and the Doctor. 

Having thanked them for their civility, Sir James 
defired they would all take their places, that the 
meeting might be conducted with regularity. 

Lady Grant, with Mrs. Shepley and the children, 
had feated themfelves upon the wall of the church- 
yard, from whence they could fee and hear all that 
paffed. 

Sir James then ordered the prifoners to be 
brought forward one by one ; and made the fecreta- 



2 50 

ry read aloud their confeffions, which they confirm- 
ed in the prefence of the whole affembly. 

After which, the fteward was ordered to kneel 
down and receive his fentence, pronounced by Sir 
James in the following words. 



CHAP. LXXXIX. 



The Sentence. 



U: 



NHAPPY man! I am mod extremely 
forry to be obliged to inflict upon you, at your age, 
fuch a puniihment as your crimes deferve. It may 
not be improper here to remind you, and to inform 
my honeil neighbours affembled upon this occafion, 
that I ihould not have undertaken to pafs judg- 
ment upon you and your fellow-prifoners, unlefs it 
had been at the particular requeit of you all, expref- 
fed in this paper whichl hold in my hand, and which 
has received your feparate fignatures. It is very 
pleafing to me to reflect, that you could have had no 
inducement to take fuch a ftep, but from a fuppofi- 
tion that my fentence would be more mild, than 
that which would have been inflicted upon you, had 
you appealed to the laws of your country, and the 
common routine of juftice. It is a flattering tefli- 
mony of the opinion you have of my paternal 
affection for you all j an opinion that I will endea- 
vour to ftrengthen by every means in my power, as 
I will ftrive to convince you that nothing is more 
dear to me than the opportunity of doing you good, 



h 251 

nothing more painful than the neceflity of inflicting 
puniihment. 

Collins, you have expofed yourfelf to the puniih- 
ment of death ! The law does not make any com- 
parifon between the life of a human being, and a 
poor man's clofe ; but the crime of perjury involves 
fo many evils to the well-being of fociety, that the 
puniihment of it has been fixed by legiflators the 
mod fevere poGTible. The teft of an oath is the only 
means by which we ignorant mortals can try the 
truth of our fellow-creatures ; and if that teft is vi- 
olated, the confequences are dreadful, but fo obvi- 
ous that I need not enlarge upon them. For thefe 
reafons, you have incurred the penalty of death. 
But, in confideration of your age, and becaufe part 
of your crime has been to my particular prejudice, 
I will fpare your life. — This then is your fentence. 

You mail be taken this day : accompanied by all 
fuch as think proper to witnefs your difgrace, with 
a chain upon your leg, to the fpot from whence it 
was your intention to remove the boundary-ftone ; 
and there you (hall replace every thing in the ftate 
in which you found it. After that you Ihall be com- 
mitted for a fortnight to the houfe of correction ; 
during every day of which confinement, our worthy 
rector will vifit you, in order that you may reveal 
to him every circumftance of your life f'.»om your 
earlieft recollection ; by means of which, the origin 
of your wickednefs and depravity of heart i/nay be 
difcovered. I will myfelf endeavour to trace the 
caufes to their fource as far as I am able, and ex- 
pofe them as a warning to my other tenants. 

The firft funday after your enlargement the rec- 
tor will read your confeflion to the whole parifh af- 
fembled ; wherein your crooked ways, your extor- 
tions, your cruelty to, and oppreffion of the poor, 
your injuftice and your diforderiy life, will be expo- 



252 

fed. I will upon that occafion, endeavour to caution 
the inhabitants of this lordfhip, againft-the infidi- 
ous arts of men of your description, which occafion 
the unhappinefs of fo many families. 

If I thought there was fo much good-fenfe and 
virtue in the parifh, as that people would for the 
fake of their own temporal well-doing, as well as for 
the hope of eternal happinefs, follow the path of 
reclitude without being frightened into it by the 
dread of punilhment ; I would mofl willingly remit 
you the remainder of your fentence. But it will not 
be : men will not purfue the only road to real hap- 
pinefs, without being forced into, it ; and I am 
therefore obliged to make an example of you. 

The beadle has orders to take you to the place 
where the flocks fland, to-morrow morning ; and 
there, having tied your hand to a poft, as high as 
he can make it reach, he is to (lain the three firfl 
fingers of your right hand with a black die, which 
I have given him, that can never be warned off. 

I would, however, have it underftood, that no 
perfon is to add to the weight of this part of your 
fentence, by feoffs and bitter jells ; but that who- 
ever thinks proper to attend, is to behave with pro- 
per decency, and ftand with his hat off during the 
ceremony. 

As foon as Sir James had done with Collins, he 
condemned John Doughty to be imprifoned for a 
week. As for Jofeph, as he did not belong to the 
parifh, he ordered him to be fent out of it imme- 
diately ; telling him that fo long as he contented 
himfelf to keep away, he need not fear any other 
punifhment, but that he would profecute him if he 
returned. 

Whilfl ail this was going on, the good old Maltf- 
well, who reverenced and loved the rec~lor, told 
him privately of the plot that was carrying on 



253 

againit him by means of Hardiman ; and that he 
muft be prepared to defend himfelf againft a charge 
of incredulity. The rector thanked him heartily 
for his caution ; and told him fmiling, that he 
hoped the affair would end better than he expected. 

Nothing could happen more lucky, faid Sir 
James, when he heard of it; andfince they have a 
mind to open the comedy themfelves, let them be- 
gin. 

He had fcarce pronounced thefe words, when 
the orator arofe and pronounced the following dif- 
courfe. 



CHAP. XC. 



Hardiman*s Oration. 



M. 



AY it pleafe your Honour, that I fhould 
be permitted in the name of the« inhabitants of vour 
faithful village of Fineihade, to relate a circum- 
ftance, which appears to them and to me a real cafe 
of confcience ? 

By all means, faid Sir James : pray who are 
you ? and what is the bufinefs in queftion ? 

My name is James, Chriftopher, Frederic Har- 
diman, one of the elders, and ringer of Fineihade, 
aged fixty-fix. — Be it known to this honourable af- 
fembly, that I have been chofen by the mofl re- 
fpeclable of the villagers, to be the organ as it were, 
or the tongue, or the lips of the whole parilh ; be- 
caufe, as it fhould feem, there is no other perfon 
fo capable of fpeaking for them as I am. 
Z 



254 

Let us come to the point, Mafter James, Chrif- 
topher, Frederic Hardiman, Elder, and Ringer of 
Finefhade, faid Sir James, rather to the confufion 
of the orator, who piqued himfelfuponthe elegance 
of his preamble. 

He began again, however, with another, pleafe 
your Honour : The tradition we have received 
from our forefathers has taught us, that the devil, 
and his imps, appear very often, and in various 
fhapes to us mortals : and as it is very plain that we 
have very goodreafons for believing what we have 
been taught, becaufe we have never doubted them ; 
fo we take the liberty, God willing, to inform your 
Honour that our parfon, Heaven pardon him, is of 
a different opinion. We are alfo a little afraid that 
your Honour thinks as the parfon does ; but as in 
things of this ferious nature, we mult obey God 
rather than man ; we hope with all fubmiflion that 
your Honour will pardon us if we requefl that you 
will oblige the parfon to teach our children for the 
future, in the fame manner we have been taught 
about the devil ; and that you will not permit him 
to fpeak flightingly of ghofts and fpectres : becaufe 
we believe firmly in them, and are refolved to live 
and die in that belief. And we alfo humbly beg, 
that a day of failing and prayer may be fpeedily 
proclaimed ; when we may by our devout fupplica- 
tion, and repentant tears, do away the effects of 
this culpable difbelief, which is every day gaining 
ground, and which will before long bring upon us 
the anger of Heaven. 

Sir James and the rector found it difficult to keep 
their countenances during this difcourfe ; but they 
liftened with patience till the end. It was received 
by the reft of the affembly with the greateft applaufe ; 
and they thought of fending the fame man back to 
his houfe, with an hundred attendants, whofe ar- 



255 



rival they had fcrupled to honour with three. On 
every fide they rofe by tens and twenties, calling 
out, " Yes, your Honour, thefe are our real fenti- 
ments, as you have heard fully declared by our El- 
der." 

Some of the poorer fort, who had a real affection 
for the rector, were quite confounded, and very 
uneafy on his account. " It is a thoufand pities," 
they whiipered one to another, " that he will be fo 
blind, and not believe as others do, he is fo good a 
man t" 

But there was no one hardy enough to undertake 
his defence, although they were very unhappy to 
fee his enemies triumph. 



CHAP. XCI. 



The Landlords Reply. 



OIR James now rofe, put on his liat, and 
calling a Heady but rather a fevere look upon the 
affembly, he fpoke as follows. 

My friends, you might have fpared the trouble 
you have given your orator, in this ridiculous bu- 
fmefs. The thing itfelf, this mighty apparition of 
the devil, is quite a miftak en notion ; and your rec- 
tor is one of the wifeft and beft men in the world. 
You ought to blulh at an attempt to lower his cha- 
racter, by means of a poor filly fellow, like this 
conceited old Hardiman. If you had the refpect 
for his excellent and wholefome doctrine that you 



256 

ought to have, you would become more reafona- 
ble : you would abandon your belief in thefe old 
woman's fiories, and not perfift againft the opinion 
of every man of underftanding, in maintaining fen- 
timents which are void of common fenfe. 

Here twenty cf them called out at once, that it 
was well known the devil had appeared only the 
very laft night, and wanted to fly away with the 
Reward. 

Sir James. My good friends, depend upon it 
you are mrftaken ; and I will undertake to make 
you alhamed of your folly, before the day is over. 
But I will perfuade myfelf that there are fome 
amongft you, who are morereafonable. Tell me, 
Wrangham,. are you one of thofe who believe in 
this fooiiih ftory of the devil? 

How mould I know, your Honour ? faid Wrang- 
ham. 

This anfwer did not fatisfy many of the men ; 
and one of the elders who flood at fome diftance, 
told him he ought to be alhamed of himfelf, to 
fpeak fo againft his confcience. Several others 
contented themfelves by faying, that twenty people 
had heard the noife, and they could not be deceiv- 
ed in that. 

Sir James. I know very well that many of you 
heard a noife ; you might call it a howling, a hol- 
labaloo, or what you pleafe ; but why mult it fol- 
low that the noife was made by the devil? Is it 
quite impoffible that one or more men might have 
a wifh for fport's fake, to frighten the fteward, who 
was upon the mountain at a very unufual hour? 
The foreit is fcarce ever free from fome paffengers, 
and the high road is very near the place where he 
was at work, fo that I think it full as likely that 
fome man had a hand in this as the devil. 



257 

Peasants. Ten or twenty men together, could 
not have made fo horrible a din as that we heard ; 
and you would have been ready enough to own it 
too, your Honour, if you had been there. No hu- 
man voice was ever heard equal to it. 

Sir James. I don't know, the night deceives 
one ; and when once one is poffeffed by fear, things 
feem to take a ten times more horrible appearance 
than they really have. 

Peasants. But it is impoflible fo many of us could 
be miftaken ; fo what needs faying fo ? 

Sir James. I muft ftill maintain, that you were 
certainly miftaken. 

Peasants. We hope no offence, your Honour; 
but we know who is miftaken now. 

Sir James. I think I could almoft bring proof 
pofitive to the contrary. 

Peasants. We wifh your Honour would. 

Sir James. It will not be very difficult. 

Peasants. Ho ! now you are mocking us, Sir. 

Sir James. No, indeed, I am not. I can, if you 
chufe it, keep my word, and am willing to try, 
provided you all confent to give up the common 
field to the cottagers, if I bring fufficient proof that 
one fmgie man made all the noife that has alarmed 
you fo much. 

Peasants. Oh ! Sir, that is impoffible. 

Sir James. Will you have the proof? 

Peasants. Yes, your Honour ; and we will (lake 
two fields inftead of one, that you cannot prove it. 

Upon this a murmur ran through the affembly, 
and ten men fpoke at a time : " We had better be 
careful how we engage ourfelves." 

" He can juft as foon prove it," faid others, " as 
he can prove that the devil lives in Heaven." " We 
have nothing to fear." " He'll be obliged to draw 
Z 2 



258 

in his horns." " We'll ftake the common field." 
44 He can bring no proof." 

(Peasants to Sir James. J Come, your Honour, 
now for your proof. If you can convince us, as 
you fay, that one man produced all that clatter we 
heard laft night, we will give up the field, but not 
elfe. 

Sir James then held up his white handkerchief, 
as was agreed upon with the poulterer ; and at the 
fame time requefted a few minutes patience of the 
affembly, till he fettled his plans. 

The men began to titter on every fide ; and cal- 
led out : " Till to-morrow morning, if your Honour 
pleafe." 

Sir James made no anfwer to this triumphant 
fneer ; but very foon the attention of the affembly 
was engaged by loud peals of laughter, which pro- 
ceeded from the church-yard, through which the 
poulterer was advancing, decked out in his devil's 
garb, and roaring out his devil's jargon. 

The countrymen now thought the demon was 
really at hand, when they heard this outlaudifh cry; 
and faw a perfon approach with a baiket upon his 
head, and a Ian thorn upon that. They did not know 
who it was, for he had difguifed himfelf. 

What is this mad fellow come to do ? faid they, 
with his lanthorn in broad day-light ? 

It is only Barwell the poulterer, faid Sir James : 
what do you come here for, my friend t 

Barwell. I have fomething to tell your Honour, 
if you will give me leave. 

Sir James. By all means. 

Upon this he put down his chicken-bafket, and 
related as follows. 



259 



CHAP. XCII. 



The Poulterers Address. 



M. 



AY it pleafe your Honour, and his Re- 
verence the Reclor, and the reft of the affembly. 
Here are the pickaxe, the fpade, the brandy-botde, 
the pipe and the broad-brim'd hat, belonging to 
Mr. Collins the fteward ; all which he abandoned 
upon the mountain, near the boundary-ftone ; at 
the time I furprifed him when he was about his fine 
work, and when frightened out of his wits, I chafed 
him to the bottom. 

Peasants. So you would make us believe it was 
you who made all that noife ; but we know a trick 
worth two of that : pray teach your grandmother 
to fuck eggs. Pleafe your Hqnour, this won't do ; 
we mud have better proof. 

Sir James. Wait a little : you fee he has got a 
lanthorn. Perhaps he will throw more light upon 
the fubject : only be filent till he has done. 

Poulterer. It would be more mannerly if you 
would hear me out ; and the fooner I begin, the 
fooner I ihall have done. One thing you may be 
fure of; that when they write the hiftory of Fine- 
fhade, they will fet you down as a company of con- 
jurors, for there is not one word of truth in this fine 
Itory of the devil and the fteward. 'Twas I who 
feared him, 1 myfelf I, poulterer to his Honour Sir 
James ; who you now fee (landing before you, with 



260 

my chicken-baiket, and this bran new black goat- 
fkin, which I put upon it yefterday-morning, be- 
cause it rained when I fet out, and I had tied my 
lanthorn upon it, juft as you faw me when I came 
here. I had put quite a frefh candle into it before 
I left Sherburne, that it might light me the better 
in thofe bad roads, and becaufe the night was very 
dark. At eleven o'clock I was ftill at the public- 
houfe at the faid Sherburne, as the landlord can 
witnefs, as well as a dozen fellows who were there 
likewife. It flruck twelve by Finelhade church, 
juft as I got to the top of the mountain ; and there 
within half a Hone's throw of the high road, I 
heard fome one fwearing and working j and I foon 
knew it to be the fteward by his voice, and his fhort 
cough. I could not at firft imagine what had 
brought him to fuch a lonely place, at fuch a time 
of night ; but I foon fancied he was digging up 
fome treafure, and thought if I made hafte I mould 
come in for my fhare. So I hurried to the place 
from whence the noife came ; but I fancy Matter 
Steward had (contrary to his cuftom) taken a cup 
too much ; for what does he do, but take me, poor 
miferable frnner as I am, for the devil in perfon. I 
then faw what he was really about ; which was to 
remove the boundary-ftone : and as I perceived he 
was horribly feared, I thought there could be no 
harm in keeping it up a little. So I gathered to- 
gether all his tools, as fall as i could, and made a 
bundle of them with my own ferreled flick j then 
fet off after him, trailing them along the flony road, 
and bawling out with all my might, Phe, Phoa, 
Phum — I have you. — I was not above a gun-fhot 
from my man ; when 1 faw you all coming filently 
along to his affiftance, with your torches, your guns, 
and your pitch-forks. As I did not think it right, 
to put a troop of hon«ft men to flight with my noife, 



261 

as I had done the fteward, I flopped fhort, and 
turning about, got back as quietly as I could with 
my booty ; and there taking up my chicken-bafket, 
I proceeded peaceably homeward. Juft at a quar- 
ter paft two, our watch paffed me, afked me what 
labourer's tools I had got upon my baiket. I forget 
exactly what anfwer I made him j but as I did not 
intend to tell any body what had happened, till I had 
told the whole ftory to his Honour, I made fonie 
evalive anfwer, and I was with Sir James before 
fix o'clock this morning. And now, my cocks, how 
could I have invented all this ftory, and collected 
thefe tools before day-break this morning, if all I 
have been telling you had not been ftriclly true ? 

Upon this, feveral of the company began to 
fcratch^their heads ; and fome fneered at the whole 
ftory. 

One piece of advice I have to give you, con- 
tinued the poulterer, moft careful watch, and you 
wifeaeres and elders of the parilh ; if ever the de- 
vil fhould trouble you again, let loofe one or two of 
your ftouteft dogs, and I warrant they'll foon bring 
him to bay. 

So faying he ceafed, and a confufed murmur ran 
through the whole affembly. 



CHAP. XCIII. 



The Comedy is for the benefit of the Poor, 

" n 

JDY jingo, it has been juft as he fays." 
" Every tittle agrees." " What a pack of fools we 
were !" 



262 

Cawthorne. Now did'nt I propofe to follow the 
knave at the time ? All I am forry for is, that we 
ilaked our common field. 

" Thank God ! we poor fellows are the better for 
it." 

" Aye, that's the deuce an all." 

Lady Grant. The introducing the common field 
was a mafter-piece. 

Mrs. Shepley. I think the whole was a mafter- 
piece. — " Why it would move a ftone to pity ; all 
our faith is overturned : what's to become of our 
ghoft ftories now?" " Phe, Phoa, Phum 1" — I have 
you, Collins ! I have you ' Ha ! ha ! hee '. 

ReSlor. I have never yet feen any thing that ap- 
peared to make fuch an impreffion on their minds. 

Collins. Is all this a dream ? or am I really awake I 
So there was no devil in the cafe ; and I am to be 
difgraced in the prefence of the whole parifh. But 
the mod extraordinary thing is, that my mind 
fhould be fo humbled 1 I feel neither anger, nor re- 
fentment ; and yet my dif grace is to be public ! 

This was all that could be diftinctly heard, 
amidft the general murmur. 

After a little time Sir James arofe, and faid 
fmiling : " What day would you wifh me to appoint, 
my friends, for the fall, on account of the apparition 
of the devil?" Then, taking a more ferious tone; 
he faid : " You may believe me, that the ancient, 
and only true belief is, to love and reverence God , 
to do that which is right ; and to fear nobody. All 
your idle ftories of ghofts and hobgoblins, ferve no 
other purpofe than to warp the underftanding, and 
deftroy your courage. Nothing now remains to be 
done, but to fettle the divifion of this miferable 
common field that you have made fuch a rout 
about : and as I am convinced it will be for the ad- 
vantage of all parties, as well thofe who giv«, 



263 

as thofe who receive it j you will not wonder that I 
have been fo much bent upon it. I have ordered 
fome liquor to be brought, that you may drink to the 
King's health ; and wifh better fortune to fuch of 
the poor amongft you, as have but a fmall mare in 
the ground you have given up. When you reflect 
that it is all that they poffefs of the good things of 
this world ; and as you, none of you, can tell how 
foon you or your children may become poor, you 
will no longer grudge what you have given up. 

Sir James now diimhTed the auembly ; and calling 
Roughwater to him, he denred he would be at the 
parfonage in about a quarter of an hour. He then 
joined the ladies, and they went thither all together. 

The rector was full of his encomiums on Sir 
James's humanity and addrefs. " I fhall never 
again prefume," laid he, " to recommend any body 
to your mercy : for I fee you have nothing to do, 
but to follow the dictates of your own heart ; to be 
as kind and companionate, as in juftice you ought 
to be." 



CHAP. XCIV. 



Chiefly consisting of Compliments * 



OP ARE me, my good friend, faid Sir James, 
and don't fpoil me by praifes which I have not 
merited. I endeavour to do what I conceive to be 
my duty : I have not yet had much experience, but 
I hope as I grow older, to underftand it and perform 
it better. I am very happy that the fentence I have 



264 

pronounced meets with your approbation ; but I am 
not to learn that in the whole of this affair, you 
have much more merit than I have : that your pru- 
dence, and paternal care had prepared every thing, 
fo that there was nothing left for me to do, but to 
determine the punifhment. 

Rettor. Nay, Sir, now you are fpoiling me. 

Sir James. No, indeed j I fay nothing but what 
I think, and w h:it you know to be true. It would be | 
unjuft and ungrateful in me to fay lefs. You have 
employed the greateft judgment and circumfpec- j 
tion, in endeavouring to reverfe an improper de- 
termination, into which my late grandfather was 
led by fome diihoneft men. It has pleafed Heaven 
to make you the means of reftoring every thing to 
rights ; and I ihould commit an offence to Heaven 
if I did not exprefs my gratitude to you for it. As 
a more fubftantial proof of my approbation, I muft 
beg you to accept the fmall clofe that joins upon 
ybur premifes, called cowllip-green, and which 1 
think cannot fail to be an agreeable acquifition to 
you. Here is the deed of conveyance which I had 
prepared yefterday ; may you live long, and happi- 
ly, to enjoy it. 

At the fame time LadyGrant prefented his wife 
with the fineft and largeft nofegay of flowers that 
had been feen at the rectory for many years, beg- 
ging her to wear it in remembrance of the late 
Baronet* 

She accepted it with many thanks ; and it was not 
till the next day, that fhe difcovered under the 
ribbon that tied them together, a very handfome 
pearl necklace. 

As for the good rector, he was almofl choaked 
with tears of gratitude, and could hardly fpeak. 

No compliments, my worthy friend, faid Sir 
James. 



26 5 

The other could juft get out : « Sir, you have a 
heart that would do honour to a Prince :" — and that 
was all. 

Sir James. Spare me, my good Sir ; let me flat- 
ter myfelf that you are my friend : Give me your 
hand as a token that you think me worthy to be 
your fellow^abourer in endeavouring to render all 
who furround us, more virtuous and more happy. 
In future I hope to fee you much oftener than I have 
hitherto done. May I not promife myfelf that I 
ihall t You know my carriage cannot be fo well em- 
ployed, as in conveying you to the caftle; and I 
hope you will often make that ufe of it. 



CHAP. XCV 



The Child repairs the injury done by his Parent. 

ROUGHWATER now appeared. Sir James 
offered him his hand, and faid : " My poor friend, 
my grandfather did you an injury, when he ad- 
judged away your clofe. It was a misfortune both 
for you and for him, though yours was the greateil ; 
beeaufe he was ignorant of the wrong he had done 
you. He was impofed upon by defigning men ; 
and I mult endeavour to difpofe you to forgive him. 

Roughwater. Forgive him, your Honour ! I al- 
ways knew very well it was not his fault. 

Sir James, And did you never bear him a 
grudge in your heart ? 

Roughwater. Sir, I proteft to you, that in the 
height of my fuffering, at the fir ft ; when the lofs of 
A a 



266 

my clol'e was the mod grievous to me, 1 never al- 
lowed myfelf to entertain a thought againft his old 
Honour, becauie I knew he was not to blame. 

Sir James. Is that really true, Roughwater ? 

Rough-water. It is, fo help me God 1 And how 
could I blame him ? I knew that the fteward had pro- 
cured falfe witntffes to fwear away my right; and 
what could the poor old gentleman do, againlt fuch 
an appearance of evidence ? I believe he pitied me 
in his heart, for he never failed ever after, to give 
me iomething whenever he met me ; and all the 
great holidays he ufed to fend me bread, and meat, 
and ale. I hope God has rewarded him for what 
he did for my poor family : I verily think that with- j 
out his aid, we ihould have perifhed with hunger. \ 

Tears flood in the poor man's eyes as he fpoke. 

Ah ! your Honour, continued he, if the good 
old gentleman had but deigned to talk to us poor 
folks as you do, fuch things would never have hap- 
pened ; but he was furrounded by a pack of leeches, 
who would never let the truth come near him. 

Sir James. We muft endeavour to forget all 
that has -palled, Roughwater: the clofe is again 
vour's. I have had the fteward's name effaced 
from the title, and your's put in: and I moft fin- 
cerely hope you will long enjoy it with comfort. 

(Roughwater, trembling and Hammering.) It 
is not in the power of fo poor a man as I am to 
thank you as I ought ; but if your Honour could 
fee my" .heart, you would know it thanked you. 

Sir James. You owe me no thanks, my honeft 
friend ; the clofe belongs to you by an undifputed 
right. 

The poor man could contain himfelf no longer: 
he burft into tears and fobbed aloud. 

Now I feel, faid he, the effects of my poor dear 
mother's laft bleffing. (He fobbed afrefh.) S' 



267 

died only laft friday, your Honour ; and upon her 
death-bed, {he faid, " You will profper, Rough- 
water ! Think of me when I am gone, my child ; I 
will pray God to blefs you." — O Sir ! fhe was the 
beft of mothers : I mall never ceafe to lament her 
lofs. 

Neither Sir James nor the reclor could reftrain 
their tears. 

Good, and honeft man, faid the latter, the bluf- 
fing of Heaven is evidently upon you, as a recom- 
pence for your filial piety. 

Roughxvater. No, worthy Sir; I owe it all to 
my mother; to the moft tender, the molt religious, 
the moft patient of mothers 1 

His tears burft out afrefh. 

Sir James. How deferving of pity is this poor 
man ! to have been fo long deprived of what juflly 
belonged to him, and which he feems fo juftly to 
have merited! 

Roughxvater. My fufferings are at an end now, 
your Honour ; and all that we endure of mifery in 
this world, is but the kindnefs of God, when once 
we have furmounted it. The greateft uneafinefs I 
feel now, is not to be able to thank you as I ought 
for all you have done for me ; firft, in giving me 
employment about the church, which was fuch a 
confolation to my mother before fhe died : and 
now, in reftoring me my clofe. I never can hope 
to exprefs half what I feel. Alas ! if my poor 
mother had but lived to fee all that has happened 
to me, perhaps fhe could have thanked you. 

Sir James. Excellent man! Thy good mother 
will enjoy thy profperity in a better place ! — But 
your grief, and your tender piety had almofl made 
me forget to tell you, that the fleward is to clear 
you of all expences, and to pay a fum of money for 
the time he has held the clofe. 



V 



i268 

Rector. Will you permit me, Sir, to % a 
word or two to Roughwater. — The fituation of the 
lie ward at prefent is very embarraffed. There is 
do doubt but he owes you a reeompence, and in- 
tereft for the ufe of your clofe ; but I think you 
have enough of companion, not to call him to a ri- 
gourous account, which might reduce him to beg- 
gary in his old age. I promifed him in his diftrefs, 
to folicit for him as much mercy as I could obtain ; 
and I accordingly implore your's towards him, 
Roughwater. Have pity then upon the wretched 
man ! 



CHAP. XCVI. 

A noble example of forgiveness of Injuries* 

Roughwater. 1 HOPE, Reverend Sir, you do not 
doubt it. As for intereft and cofts, they are quite 
out of the queftion ; and if the ft e ward fhould ever 
become poor, I hope I can fay it with as much 
truth, as I wifh it to be void of boafting, that 
I will do my duty towards him, as I would towards 
any other man. Nay, Sir, to prove that I am in 
earneft, 1 will tell you what I will do : the clofe is 
large enough to maintain three cows, winter and 
fummer ; now two will be quite enough for me, 
and indeed much more than I could ever have 
hoped for: I will with all my heart give up the 
third part to the fteward, for the remainder of his 
ufe. 



269 

Redlor. Your determination is very noble, and 
becoming a good chriftian. I have no doubt but the 
Almighty will make to prolper the part you retain. 

Sir James. It is certainly a very noble propofal : 
but 1 think we mould be cautious how we take him 
at his word. His heart is now opened by the iudden 
effect of unhoped-for profperity. — I applaud your 
determination mod exceedingly, my honeft friend; 
but I would recommend it to you to reflect upon it 
for two or three days ; at the end of which, you may 
do it with infinite credit to yourfelf, and without 
fear of repenting of your generality. 

Rouvrhivater . 1 am but a poor man, your Honour; 
but not fo poor in fpirit as to repent of a promife I 
have made in favour of an unhappy fellow-creature. 

Rector. You had better take Sir James's advice : 
thefacrifice you have already made of the colls, and 
intereil, is enough for the prefent. If hereafter the 
fteward mould be in want, and after having feriouf- 
ly reflected, you can determine upon the act of 
generality, you know you can do it at any time. 

Roughxvater. I think I am not afraid of my re- 
solution, an't pleafe your Reverence. 

Sir James. Now, Roughwater, Iwifh to fee you 
this day, perfectly gay and happy. Had you rather 
flay with us, and get your fupper at the rectory, or 
p;o home to your children? In either cafe I have 
taken care, that you mould have a plentiful meal. 

Ronghxvater. Sir, you are m uch too good to me : 
but if 1 might be permitted, without offence, I had 
rather go home, for I have nobody to look after 
my children. Alas 1 1 have buried my wife lbme 
time fince, and I have laid my poor mother befide 
her only two days ago. 

Sir James: Well then, go home ; and may the 
good God protect you 1 When you go out, you will 
find a cow in the rector's liable, which I make you 
Aa2 



270 

a prefent of, that you may remember my grand- 
father with pieafure, and be quite happy with your 
children. I have alfo ordered a large load of hay to 
be led to your houfe from Collins's ; it is your due : 
you will find it before your door. If either your 
houfe, or your liable want any repairs, you are 
welcome to cut the neceflary timber out of my 
woods. 



CHAP. XCVII. 



The acknowledgments of a grateful Heart* 

A HIS unexpected flow of bleflings, quite 
deprived the poor man of the power of utterance. 
He tried to ftammer out a few words of thankful- 
nefs, but in vain: however that attempt {poke more 
eloquently for him, than any words could have 
done. 

I underitand perfectly, faid Sir James, all you 
would fay, and that you wiih to return me a thou- 
fand thanks. Give me your hand, worthy, honeit 
man : and now get away to your children, refting 
affured, that if I can in any thing contribute 
to their happinefs, or your's ; I will do it, with the 
molt fincere fatisf action. 

Roughwater took his leave, and drove hk cow 
home. 



271 



CHAP. XCVIII. 



An interesting Scene. 



1. HE foregoing fcene had drawn tears from 
the eyes of all the fpectators, particularly from the 
ladies and the children ; and a hlence of fome mi- 
nutes enfued, after Rough water's departure. 

Lady Grant at laft faid, " What can equal the joy 
of an evening, pafled as this has been I This earth, 
and the contemplation of the fmiling beauties of 
nature, are a never-ending fource of happinefs ; 
but the exquifite delight of performing a good ac- 
tion, furpafles every other enjoyment.'^ 

Sir James. How true that is ! my dearefl love j 
and how like you the remark ! 

Rector. My emotion muft fland in lieu of the 
thanks I would willingly return ; for the delightful 
fpeclacle you have afforded us : but indeed my 
heart thanks you, my dear Sir. I have never, in 
the whole courfe of my life, feen a more flriking 
example of true noblenefs of heart in all its purity, 
than in this honeft Roughwater : and 1 think it 
mull be a fatisfaction to you, Sir, as it is to me, to 
meet with it in an order of men, where, from edu- 
cation it was the leaft to be expected. 

In the mean time, the rector's wife was alter- 
nately preffing her children, whofe eyes were red 
with weeping, to her bofom, She faid nothing ; but 
the look of expr.eflion, and the tear which flood in 
her eye, plainly pointed out what paffed in her 



272 

heart. In a few minutes, the children propofed to 
their mother, to carry their (upper to Roughwater's 
children. Mrs. Shepley looked at Lady Grant to 
know how the proportion was received. u Let us 
go with them," faid the Lady : and the gentlemen 
declared they would not be left behind. 

Sir James had ordered a cold loin of veal to be 
put up in the coach, for the purpofe ; and Mrs. 
Shepley added a moll excellent lbup : all of which, 
Martin was ordered to carry to the poor man's cot- 
tage. All the lower people of the village, old and 
young, men, women, and children, were affembled 
before the door, to admire the great load of hay and 
the fine cow. 

Martin had fcarce depofited his load, when the 
company arrived ; and were grieved to find fcarce 
any thing but the four bare walls of the houfe, and 
the children ragged, and bearing the appearance of 
hunger and wretchednefs. 

Sir James felt with frefh force the fatal effects of 
hafty judgment ; and there was not one of the 
company whole heart did not bleed at the fight of 
fo much mifery. 

Can you believe, faid he to the Ladies, who he 
faw were diftreffed at the fcene before them ; that 
this noble fellow, has propofed of his own accord, 
to give up one third of the produce of his field, to 
the very man who has been the occafion of this 
fcene of diftrefs for the laft ten years ; and that for 
his life ? 

Lady Grant. We overheard all that paffed ; but 
this poor man, with all the children, muft not be 
allowed to part with a fingle penny, particularly in 
favour of fuch a worthlefs, good-for-nothing. 

Sir James. And will you venture, my Love, to 
check the impulfe of a generous heart, which is ex- 
alted, perhaps by the immediate influence of the 



273 

Almighty, to a pitch of generofity, which you 
could not witnefs without tears ? 

Lady Grant, Oh ! no indeed ; be it far from me 
to entertain fuch a thought again. Let him give all 
that he has, if he feels the difpofition, for God will 
never forfake fo good a man. 

At the end of this little dialogue, Sir James de- 
fired Roughwater would give the children their 
fupper ; when little John made his father a fign, 
and faid in a low voice ; " May'nt I carry a bit of 
this fine meat to Gertrude!" 

Roughxvater, You fhall, my good lad ; but wait 
a bit. 

Sir James, w T ho overheard the name of Gertrude, 
a&ed Roughwater what the boy had been faying ? 

Upon which he told the whole ftory of the pota- 
toes ; of his mother's laft moments; of Leonard's 
and Gertrude's extreme kindnefs to him ; and con- 
cluded by faying, " Sir, thefe very ihoes and {lock- 
ings that I have on at this moment, I owe to Leo- 
nard's goodnefs : and as this is a mo'ft bleifed day to 
me, I cannot fit down with comfort to fuch a feaft, 
unlefs I invite thofe worthy people to ihare it with 
me." j , . 

I mould tire my readers, were I to dwell upon 
the encomiums the company beftowed upon the 
poor man's gratitude : were I to exprefs their ad- 
miration of the benevolence of a poor mafon's 
wife, or to recount the tears they (bed at the rela- 
tion of the pious mother's lad moments. I find it is 
more than I can do, to defcribe little John's ecfta- 
fy, when he was told he might fetch Leonard and 
Gertrude. 

They however foon arrived, with their children ; 
for Sir James had fent a fervant to back John's in 
vitation ; without which, their modefty would hard- 
ly have permitted them to appear. I find it difficult 



274 

alio to deicribe the tender (hoots of benevolence 
which appeared in the mafon's children; each, 
heaping from his own plate, that of his little neigh- 
boar, with every good morfel that was distributed 
to them; and then feemingto with to read in their 
eyes, the joy they hoped to infpire. But I think the 
mofl pathetic touch of all, was to fee thefe poor 
little ragged children clinging round the modefl 
Gertrude, as if they would devour her ; one eagerly 
grafping her hand, another wifhing to appropriate 
to itfelf that fmile which (hone with benignity upon 
them all. 

Sir James and his Lady contemplated this inte- 
resting fcene as long as they could: but it grew late, 
and they were obliged to tear themfelves away. 
But the impreffion of fo much mifery relieved, and 
put beyond the reach of want, gave them a fenfa- 
tion of delight that kingdoms could not purchafe. 

Nothing was faid when they parted ; tears fup- 
plied the place of words. But they were no fooner 
out of fight, than there burft out a clamour of 
bleffings upon them, that could not fail to find their 
way to Heaven. 

Sir James ordered his coachman to drive very 
flowly, till they were clear of the village. 

The rector and his family returned home with 
hearts bounding with contentment. 

Leonard and Gertrude (laid with Roughwater 
and his children till near nine o'clock, and furely it 
would be impoifible to find a happier groupe. 



275 




Joyful Prospers, 



W 



ITHIN the lad week, there has been a 
talk in the village, that Gertrude is likely to bring 
about a match between Roughwater and her parti- 
cular friend Wrangham's filler. Sir James has ex- 
preffed his approbation ; and there feems little 
doubt of the brother's and filler's confent, as the 
man has Ihewn himfelf fo very worthy, and his 
field is worth at a moderate valuation, at leafl five 
hundred pounds. 

As for Leonard, his building fucceeds beyond 
his mod fanguine hopes ; and he rifes in the good 
opinion of Sir James Grant every day. 



CHAP. C. 



Conclusion, 



I 



FORGOT to mention that the poulterer 
did not go without his reward ; for Lady Grant, 
perceiving him upon the road, as they returned 
home in the evening, reminded her hufband of the 



276 

fhare he had had in the plot of tfyeir comedy : fo he 
ordered the coachman to flop, and called him fay- 
ing, " Barwell, my wife thinks it very hard you 
mould have played the devil for nothing ; fo here's 
a guinea for you." 

I molt humbly thank your Honour; and I mould 
be very glad to play the devil every day upon the 
fame terms. 

Sir James. Provided you were fure the dogs 
were fafe tied up. 

Barwell. For that matter, yes, your Honour. 

This faid, the coachman cracked his whip, and 
the forrels were at home in an inftant. 



THE END, 








































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